The State of Vengeance
by Mandelene
Summary: When Snape is forced to spend a summer with The Boy Who Lived, chaos ensues and strange happenings cause Harry to grow suspicious. What will happen when he learns the truth behind his situation? Will the two play nice for the sake of survival?
1. Prologue

AN: Let me begin by saying that I've wanted to write this story for a long time, but I could never figure out how to go about it. I had to literally pace around the room pretending to be Snape in order to get this finished, and I still don't think it came out perfectly. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the prologue of my new project. I've been working on it for a while, and it feels nice to finally be able to set it out into the grand world.

This story takes place in the summer after Harry's fifth year.

I don't own Harry Potter. This was made for pure entertainment only. I'm nowhere near a professional writer. I'm just a 14 year old without a day job. High school is about as crazy as it gets, but you understand. ;)

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><p>"Severus," said Dumbledore, "I assume you've received my owl?"<p>

"How could I not have? That bloody bird was a menace; it wouldn't stop squawking until I opened the damn window," Snape growled.

Dumbledore gave a cheery smile, then occupied one of the armchairs in Snape's sitting room. It seemed strange that the professors' roles had been reversed. Usually it was Snape who was sitting in a chair opposite Dumbledore's desk. The younger man felt slightly put out at the fact that he wasn't being offered a lemon drop right now (even though he always declined). His barren home didn't seem like it was fit enough for the headmaster to sit in.

After all, this had been his parent's house, which made it seem centuries old. The days of sitting alone in his room, shooting down flies from the ceiling, seemed so distant. Still, those memories lived on, haunting Snape and sucking the energy out of his body.

He broke his train of thought by offering Albus some tea, then proceeded to pace about the room.

"How are you feeling?" Dumbledore interrogated him seriously.

"Fine," was Snape's harsh response.

"You seem tired," Albus noted.

"I'm always tired," Snape argued, taking a quick sip of tea to calm himself.

"Have the effects of the potion started?"

"Yes," Snape whispered darkly. "The dreams are difficult to control. I wake up each morning nearly clawing my way up the walls."

"Have you tried some Dreamless Sleep potion?"

Snape scoffed, "It no longer has an effect on me, especially not now. These aren't just dreams anymore. They're night terrors."

Dumbledore frowned. "Any other symptoms?"

Snape closed his eyes. Other than the fact that Lily had been following him around and infecting his every thought lately?

"No," he lied.

"Alas, it seems my time has been cut short as well," Dumbledore reminded, lifting his blackened hand and waving the fingers in speculation.

"At least you will be flooded with flowers and tears. Crowds will be cheering with delight on my doomsday," Snape remarked bitterly.

"Oh, Severus," Dumbledore sighed, "don't sulk. There is much to be done, and still plenty of time to be remembered for doing them."

Snape turned toward the window, staring out at the river flowing in close proximity.

"I'm positive you did not come here to speak of our deaths, but rather something of more significance at the moment," he said smoothly.

Dumbledore nodded. "You're absolutely right."

"Then what is it? I won't be your delivery boy for much longer, so you best spit it out before it's too late," Snape snapped.

Dumbledore gave a shake of the head and a smirk, "You won't be dying anytime soon, Severus, contrary to your belief. I know this discovery must be a disappointment, but your huffing and puffing will have to wait until later. I've come with a proposal."

"I'm certain that can't be good news," Snape grumbled.

"Don't interrupt until you've considered it," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I think it would be best if you were to leave this environment for a little while. It certainly can't be healthy for you to be alone with the dreams that you have described in your letters to me."

"You're going to send me to St. Mungo's? Perhaps, book me a room adjacent to Gilderoy's?"

Dumbledore ignored Snape's remark. "Not exactly, my dear boy. I was suggesting that you could stay someplace where visitors are frequent. Perhaps, Grimmauld Place."

"Black's house? Never."

"Sirius is dead, Severus. Isn't it about time to let this grudge go? I thought that considering the circumstances, you would want to make amends before- Ah, how did you phrase it? Your 'doomsday'." Dumbledore mocked with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"I can't do that while Potter lives," Snape retorted.

"You indubitably can, which is why I would like you to stay with Harry in Grimmauld Place until the end of the summer. Harry has been going through a difficult time after the loss of his godfather, and seeing as it isn't safe for either of you to be alone in such mental states, it is a perfectly suitable solution," Dumbledore explained.

Something seemed to have burst inside of Snape. Silently, fury boiled inside him, but he knew that it wouldn't be wise to throw a fit in front of Albus.

Snape pursed his lips. "I don't think so."

"Nonsense. I suppose you must be delirious from the next side effect of the potion, raging fever."

"I am _not_ delirious," Snape snarled, resolute.

"You always do this whenever I give my recommendations." Dumbledore observed.

"You can't force another master plan on me, Albus!" Snape ranted. "Out of all the things you've manipulated me into doing, this is an all time high point. Stay with, Potter? Have you lost your mind? I never imagined even _you _could conjure up such a ridiculous idea!"

Dumbledore said nothing.

"And to think that I've spent half of my life saving the stupid boy's neck. I suppose you want him to be my nursemaid now? I'm perfectly capable of controlling whatever side effects this potion presents me with."

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore began loftily, "the idea isn't as farfetched as it may seem. Besides, Harry doesn't know about the potion you were forced to take after being cursed by Dolohov when your allegiance to Voldemort was questioned."

"Dolohov had no business inquiring about my allegiance in the first place. He cursed me unexpectedly before the incident at the Ministry. I've heard that the Dark Lord has dealt with him accordingly, and he has been recaptured. Nevertheless, Dolohov remains to be displeased with my failure to appear at the Department of Mysteries." Snape revealed. "But, that's beside the point. You think Potter won't notice?" Snape muttered furiously. "He won't notice the hallucinations and fevers that will consume me?"

"Oh, he'll notice," Dumbledore acknowledged, "but knowing Harry's kind-hearted nature, I'm sure he'll be more than empathetic."

"Ah, yes, his hated Potions professor on his deathbed will definitely make his heart squeal with joy, or contempt rather, but really, how different are the two?" Snape replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You'll be cured in three weeks, and there are periods of breaks in between. It's not as though you'll be incapacitated during the entire summer. I shall be dropping in every once in a while should things get out of hand. If you wish, I'll do everything in my power to keep your predicament a secret," Dumbledore compromised.

A summer with Potter. How lovely.

Snape muttered a few unfavorable words under his breath, kicked the leg of the rickety coffee table before him, and tore out of the room without another word. Dumbledore sat in place, waiting for the younger man to regain his composure before pushing the subject any further.

It took much longer than expected, and the minutes were growing more grueling by the second. Dumbledore prepared himself to stand and check what was happening in the opposite room when the sound of pots and pans clanking down onto the floor caught his immediate attention. He stood and sped into the kitchen Snape had retreated to.

Sure enough, Snape was clutching the edge of the sink, knees crumbling beneath him, unable to support his weight any longer. His face was pale with a sickly, yellow tinge while beads of sweat broke out on his forehead from the shock and effort of having to stand. He breathed heavily for a moment, frightened by the sudden loss of control.

"It's going to be a long three weeks," Snape grunted, rubbing his temples with the hand not clutching the table.

Dumbledore sighed, stepping over to the man and helping him sit down. "Severus, please," he whispered. "Look at yourself. You need help."

"Fine," Snape mumbled, "Have it your way then."

He took in a long stream of air before stating, "I'll do it."


	2. Hostility comes with Responsibility

AN: Thank you for all the support! :)

venge·ance [ven-juhns]

noun

infliction of injury, harm, humiliation, or the like, on a person by another who has been harmed by that person; violent revenge.

"To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it." ― Confucius

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><p>It was a cloudy day, not unlike countless others. July was proving to provide mild weather. A gentle breeze caressed the dancing summer leaves as the television in the living room buzzed with laughter and applause. Dudley seemed to have a new found obsession with the blonde woman on Little Whinging's local news channel, and Harry was hoping to use this knowledge to his advantage. It shouldn't have to have been too hard to poke fun at his cousin, but after the recent death of Sirius, Harry was sure it wouldn't have had the desired effect. No smiles, no laughter, and no writing back to Ron with this new revelation.<p>

Sirius. He seemed to be everywhere nowadays. Every glance in the mirror reminded Harry of how much he resembled his father, which then reminded him of how close James and Sirius had been. Could he have changed things? Could he have prevented his death? If only he had kept his mouth shut about the vision. He should have suspected Voldemort's motives. He should have realized that he was slowly being sucked and controlled by evil. He shouldn't have to be mourning over him. Sirius should still be here, smiling and chuckling and complaining about being confined within the walls of Grimmauld Place.

"HARRY!" Vernon howled from the bottom of the stairs, "Get down here, boy!"

Harry stood and stormed into the living room, anger bubbling inside every inch of his body. The Dursleys did not have a drop of sympathy in their blood.

"What?" Harry retorted angrily. The nerve of the lot. They would never understand the horrors that he'd recently faced. He was done with moping about, and had every intention of being as nasty and defiant as possible toward the Dursleys this summer.

"Don't give me that tone, boy. I've provided for your world long enough. The minute you become of age, you'll be out of here! Mark my words!" Vernon snarled, holding up a fat finger between Harry's eyes .

Harry scowled. It had been two weeks since he had returned from Hogwarts. Two weeks too many.

"Now go set the table for dinner, or you won't be having any of it!" Vernon ordered.

Harry suppressed the urge to scoff as he made his way into the kitchen to retrieve the silverware. Petunia turned her nose up at his arrival, but said nothing as usual. Harry ignored her and retrieved all the things he would need without another complaint. Just nine more weeks until he would start his sixth year at Hogwarts. He would just have to bite his tongue, grit his teeth and toughen it out until then.

Dinner was uneventful, but consisted of the customary topics for conversation. Petunia rambled on about how her garden was turning out this summer, and mentioned how she was willing to try out some new cooking recipes that she had recently discovered. Vernon complimented her on the meal and then revealed how his day at work had been, cursing a few of his co-workers along the way. Dudley would occasionally huff and puff at questions directed at him, but mainly focused on shoveling heaps of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Harry kept his mouth shut as usual, nibbling on whatever Petunia had reserved for him, which usually wasn't very much. Marge's dog had been fed better.

Ah, Aunt Marge. For the first time in a while, Harry allowed himself a small smirk that lasted for only about a second. He wondered how she was doing these days. Sirius had certainly gotten a laugh out of that story when Harry had relayed it to him.

He frowned once more, dropping his head and playing with the cold peas on his plate.

Desert was served to the family in the living room, but Harry wasn't offered any. Dudley and Vernon settled in front of the T.V, while Petunia fussed around them, cleaning the final crumbs off of the table and kissing Dudley on the head.

Sometimes Harry wondered what went on his aunt's mind. Did she feel any remorse at the loss of her only sister? There were moments where Harry could swear that he saw some emotion behind those soulless eyes. Sometimes it was the flickering of a twinkle, or the glassiness in one eye for just a moment.

Dudley was cramming the final piece of fruit tart into his mouth when a booming roar filled the room. Harry ducked behind the kitchen counter that he had just begun washing down, fearing the worst. Had the windows shattered? Had Dudley's stomach finally exploded from such ample amounts of food being stored in it?

"BLOODY HELL!" Vernon hollered as Petunia shrieked, pulling Dudley close to her.

As the sounds abated, Harry shakily stood, only to be greeted by the person he had least expected to see.

"Harry, my boy!" Dumbledore spoke cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear. "I trust you've been faring well?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he took in the scene. Obviously Dumbledore had arrived through the fireplace as evident by the clouds of hot ash emanating from it.

"I apologize for startling everyone. The fireplace could use a good cleaning." Dumbledore said casually as he dusted off his scarlet robes.

Vernon swore under his breath as he protectively stood in front of his wife and son.

Dumbledore's eyes roved from the huddled Durselys and then back to Harry before continuing.

"I'm afraid I'm here to take Harry out of your care for the meantime, but never fear, he shall return next summer," he said smoothly.

"Well," Vernon cleared his throat, "What are you waiting for, boy? Go with your _kind_. I'm sick of your nonsense and freaky friends popping up in MY home every year! Can you imagine what the neighbors will think?"

Needless to say, Harry didn't have to be told twice. He dropped the washcloth he had been using and sped upstairs to gather his belongings, but the headmaster stopped him in his tracks.

"That won't be necessary, Harry," Dumbledore smiled and swished his wand gracefully. Within a few seconds, Harry's schoolbooks, trunk, and his owl, Hedwig, flew into the room and came to a halt at the professor's feet.

"I see you haven't unpacked yet," Dumbledore noted with a wink.

Harry allowed himself a small smile out of politeness.

"Well, then. We best be going. Thank you for your hospitality Mr. and Mrs. Dursley."

Harry made his way over to Dumbledore and expected to go back through the fireplace, but was caught by surprise once more when he was stopped.

"We have to make a quick stop first, my boy. It's best if we apparate to the location. Take my arm." Dumbledore explained coolly.

Harry had never apparated before, but knew that he would have to eventually, and what better time than now? Nervously, Harry took his professor's outstretched arm and prepared himself.

The sensation was similar to being transported by portkey. Harry was being twisted and felt as though he was being squeezed out of a new tube of toothpaste. Nausea filled him, and he wished for it to be over already. He was swirling in place and simultaneously falling into what seemed like a gaping hole. Seconds felt like ages, but when Harry managed to open his eyes again, he was blessedly on solid ground once more. He caught himself, willing his knees not to collapse beneath his suddenly heavy body.

"Are you alright, Harry? Most people vomit the first time." Dumbledore said in a somewhat reassuring tone.

"I can't imagine why." Harry said solemnly, but felt better as hastily as he had fallen ill.

He sucked in a deep breath of air only to cough it back up as soon as it entered his lungs. He was aware of a pungent stench from somewhere in the distance and wrinkled his nose as he sniffed tentatively.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore gave a sad smile and gestured to the west, "that would be the river."

Just then, Harry noticed the blackened hand at Dumbledore's side.

"Sir," he quietly gasped. "What happened?"

Dumbledore raised the hand casually, surveying it with utmost ease. "That's a story that I'll share some other time, Harry. We have an errand to run for now. Don't fret, my boy."

Harry nodded and began to walk alongside the headmaster. They strolled down the barren streets, and Harry couldn't help but notice how run-down the neighborhood seemed. Rickety porches and fragile windows that seemed like they would crack at the slightest gust of wind caught his attention.

"Might I ask where we are, sir?"

"We're at Spinner's End, Harry. There's someone that we'll be visiting today, though I don't believe it would be wise to speak of it in public. We'll be there in just a moment."

Dumbledore's tone grew softer as they neared the identical houses occupying the streets. Harry was sure these were Muggle residences, and felt sorry for the people who were forced to live here.

A television rumbled in one of the houses, the sounds of static ringing in Harry's ears as he walked by. There was no laughter nor were there children playing on the block. Everything seemed eerie and lifeless.

Finally, Dumbledore stopped at a particularly old house. This one was about the same size as the others, but had no porch, just a few steps leading up to the wooden door. Dumbledore knocked sharply as if to ensure that the person inside was aware of his presence.

Harry could hear someone shuffling about behind the door. There was a small thud as something fell to the floor, possibly a book and then a few unintelligible murmurs. The door gave a small click, and then a pair of dark, black eyes came into view, locking onto Dumbledore's blue ones. The two exchanged some hushed words, and then the dark eyed man seemed frustrated for some reason.

But Harry did not need to hear the man's voice to know whose house this was. He had stared into those black eyes for so many years, most especially during his Occlumency lessons last term. They were the eyes of the enemy. They were the eyes of Severus Snape.

"Just a moment, Headmaster," Snape mumbled, silently running through a check-list of things that had to be done before his departure.

"Sir? What's going on?" Harry questioned heatedly, his temper rising at the sight of his least favorite professor. He had the same lean figure and intimidating stance. His greasy black hair hadn't changed either, and Harry wondered whether it was enchanted to look that way, or if it was natural. He wore his usual black robes, but Harry could tell that they were slightly different from his teaching robes. However, he still managed to appear as bat-like as ever.

"Potter," Snape hissed, forming his usual menacing glare.

Those stone cold eyes hadn't changed, but there was something odd about the features of Snape's face. He looked almost… weary.

"Severus," Dumbledore began sternly, "I trust you'll make it there safely. You know that I mustn't linger. It could raise suspicion, even in a Muggle community."

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape said slowly, his eyes never leaving Harry's green ones.

"Well, then. I shall check in as soon as I can, and I expect to be updated frequently, or I'll suspect something has gone amiss," Dumbledore concluded.

"Sir?" Harry queried.

"I apologize for being so ambiguous, Harry. Professor Snape will explain everything to you in due time, but right now it is essential that you listen to what he says. I shall return later today." Dumbledore replied hurriedly. As an after thought he added, "Trust me, Harry."

Harry was perplexed. Was Dumbledore going to leave him with Snape? The man would kill him without a second thought. He would probably burn his body or get rid of all the evidence to ensure that there wouldn't be a funeral. Harry would never be seen again.

With a crack, Dumbledore disapparated into thin air, and Harry was left alone with his Potion's professor.

Snape walked out from behind the door and it locked behind him with another click, so that Harry didn't have an opportunity to take a peek at what was inside. Was this really where Snape lived? He had always expected Death Eaters to live in elegant manors like the Malfoy family, but it seemed that he was sorely mistaken.

Snape said nothing to him as he swept by Harry's confused figure. He made his way down the street swiftly, so that Harry had to jog to keep up with him. He didn't know why he was willingly following Snape around, but Dumbledore had said to listen to him, which probably meant that he was supposed to tag along. Besides, if Snape wasn't going to provide any answers, he was going to have to find them out himself. Plus, staying out in the open in unfamiliar surroundings would hardly be considered safe.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed exasperatedly. "Where are we going? What's going on?"

Snape ignored him, quickening his pace so that Harry was nearly sprinting after him in order to keep up.

"Git," Harry muttered under his breath.

He lagged behind, watching the cloudy sky as he went. A drop of rain splattered on his nose and he wiped it off absently with his sleeve. He was just beginning to dread the thought that he would be forced to stand in the rain for hours, when Snape had decided that they had gone far enough.

The professor snarled and reluctantly put out his arm. "Come here, Potter."

Harry stared at him in disbelief. They had come all this way just to apparate anyway?

"Are we going to disapparate?" Harry asked warily.

"You really are dim, Potter. It never ceases to amaze me. The Dark Lord overestimates your abilities," Snape sneered.

Harry glowered. "I just wanted to know why you dragged me halfway across the town for this, sir," he said a little too forcefully.

"I doubt my neighbors would appreciate my sudden disappearance right before their eyes," Snape replied.

"But Dumbledore-"

"Professor Dumbledore is a powerful wizard. He may be willing to take the risk of apparating in the open, but seeing that I'm stuck with you, we have to take certain precautions. I wonder what Bellatrix Lestrange would think if she saw me strolling with you," Snape interjected.

"There are other Death Eaters here?"

"There very well may be. So I suggest you keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter," Snape snapped.

Harry hesitantly stepped forward, and placed his hand on his professor's forearm. It was very strange; being in such close proximity with Snape was unnerving. In all the years that he had been Harry's teacher, they had never touched each other, except for when Snape was especially cross with him.

The same twisting sensation filled Harry, but this time when he felt the ground under his feet, he was capable to keep his balance.

A split second of surveillance proved to him that he was in Grimmauld Place. Its usually musty scent filled his nostrils, and he was instantly reminded of Sirius.

Suddenly, Snape and Dumbledore didn't matter anymore. He couldn't bear to stand in this building, not so soon.

He shut his eyes tightly and turned back toward the door, reaching for the handle, but was stopped when Snape clutched the collar of his jacket.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I won't stay here," Harry stated firmly.

"Oh, but we've just arrived. Surely you can stay for a few introductions," Snape sneered.

The man was playing his usual mind games, and Harry wasn't up for any of them. He wanted to go back to Dumbledore. He wanted to convey to him all the emotions that had been running through his head for the past two weeks. He needed to be reassured that this loss had some sort of meaning to it.

"Why did you bring me here?" Harry forced himself to speak.

Snape scowled. "It seems that yet again, you are the cause of my recent problems, Potter. The headmaster assures me that you need protection, and once again I have been placed on babysitting duty."

"Protection? I don't need any protection, especially if you're the one who'll be giving it." Harry retorted.

"Ah, if only it were that simple." Snape gave a nasty smile. "However, I can assure you that if protection is what you require, I will be more than capable of providing it." There was something in the way Snape's nostrils were flaring, and eyes were glinting that Harry did not like in the least.

"You see, Death Eaters have gained a certain interest in your living standards, Potter. They've been testing enchantments, tinkering with experimental charms. Though Professor Dumbledore is assured that they will not be able to penetrate any wards, he thought it best if you were moved until these interests die down." Snape lied smoothly.

Harry was beginning to connect the dots, and he was not liking where this was going.

"Since the location of these headquarters is still a secret, you'll be staying here for the meantime," Snape finished.

Harry's eyes widened. "And I have to stay here with _you_?"

He must have been dreaming. He willed himself to wake up, to escape the horrors of this nightmare.

Snape said nothing in response, but he didn't have to. This had already been decided without Harry's input. He was stuck here until Dumbledore cleared Privet Drive to be safe again. He was going to have to live with Snape.

Live. With. Snape.

Somehow, the words just couldn't register properly in his mind. He was sure Snape was going to get a good laugh out of this.

"B-But, why can't I stay with Remus? Why did Dumbledore choose you out of all other people?" Harry spoke in a strained voice. He leaned against the door for support, not trusting his legs to carry him any longer.

For a moment, Snape's frowned, then proceeded to ignore the question. He turned to walk away and go about his day, but Harry refused to allow him out of this so easily.

"Why are you here? You obviously don't want to be here. Why don't you just apparate away from here?" Harry asked fervently.

Snape's eyes sparked with fire. He spun around on his heel, turned to Harry and seized his t-shirt, pulling the fifteen year old forward.

Perhaps, the realization that he would be subjected to three weeks of complete vulnerability was what threw Snape over the edge. The constant twinges of fatigue and lethargy were driving him mad, and having to look into those bright emerald eyes was not helping in the least. He wasn't in his right mind anymore. Words escaped his mouth without him truly understanding what they meant, or why he was saying them. Every process in his body seemed to be functioning involuntarily now, and Snape could no longer trust himself to keep control.

"Want to know what would happen if I left Dumbledore, Potter?" Snape said threateningly as Harry tried to wriggle free of his grasp. "I'd be sent to Azkaban as soon as the Minister was notified. Bet you'd enjoy that wouldn't you, Potter? You'd gladly watch dementors gnaw on my soul, but guess what, Potter? I. Won't. Give. You. The. Satisfaction."

Harry felt himself being shoved backward, but caught himself on the small table pushed against the wall. He hated Snape. He hated him with a deep passion, and he knew the feeling was mutual.


	3. An Eye For an Eye

**AN: Sorry this took longer than expected. My 15th birthday was last Friday, and it was also the opening weekend of "The Hunger Games", so I let myself slack off. x) **

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><p>It was late. The moon hung over the gloomy clouds, blanketing them in a radiant light. All was still outside other than the occasional hum of the wind. Meanwhile, Harry was pacing around the makeshift bedroom he usually claimed when staying at Grimmauld Place, but for some reason he couldn't sleep, especially not while Snape was lurking around the house. He might be plotting something like hexing Harry while he dreamt, and he didn't want to take the risk of that happening.<p>

But Harry knew that he didn't need to fear such scenarios. Dumbledore wouldn't allow it, and he was safe as long as the Headmaster knew his whereabouts, or so he assumed.

Speaking of Dumbledore, hadn't he told Harry that he would come to visit later today? Well, it was late alright, and still no sign of him. Harry dismissed this as a sign that the Headmaster was occupied at the moment, but silently wished that wasn't the case. He needed to talk, even though it seemed tedious at the moment. He knew he'd feel better if he released all the grief he had been holding for the past few weeks.

An unmistakable thud resounded throughout the household, and Harry sprang back into awareness. He opened his bedroom door and peeked into the hallway, ears waiting for something… anything. His toes tingled with excitement. He was itching to wander about, to find something of interest in order to break the bubble he had secluded himself in as of late.

The clear sound of glass shattering directed his attention toward Snape's room, which was adjacent to the stairs leading to the first floor. Harry debated whether or not he should see what was going on, fearful that Snape would accuse him of snooping.

His Gryffindor curiosity got the best of him, and he made his way quietly down the carpeted floor, his socks brushing the soft threads. The door had been tightly shut previously, but now was slightly ajar. Harry opened the door fully and was met with the sight of Snape standing over a broken potion vial, it's contents splattered all over the floor. He was cursing under his breath, muttering fervently.

Harry cleared his throat to make his presence apparent. He surveyed the cluttered room filled with books and stray papers, each one scribbled with more notes than the other. One book was sprawled on the floor, binding up, which explained the thud he had heard previously.

"Potter," Snape growled, "What are you doing traipsing about?"

"I wasn't traipsing," Harry snarled in reply. "You woke me," he lied.

Snape ignored his comment, obviously preoccupied with cleaning up the spilled potion.

Harry on the other hand, noted that the man's face was covered in a slick sheen of sweat, and couldn't help but wonder what had caused the clumsiness of his usually cautious, bat-like professor.

"I've no time for your nonsense, Potter. Go back to bed." Snape said, dismissing him.

Harry scoffed, but decided not to push the topic any further. Besides, the potion on the ground was releasing misty pink fumes, though he couldn't place from where he recognized the scent. He left Snape's room and went back to his familiar bedroom, a new sense of drowsiness overcoming him. It wasn't until his eyes were merely slits and his mind was swiftly drifting away that he realized the concoction had been a Dreamless Sleep potion. It must've been powerful if the fumes had been enough to lull his restless self. He was about to consider why Snape would have such a potion on hand, but never got the chance as his thoughts trailed.

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><p>Snape shook his head, trying to clear dizziness and apathy that were grasping him tightly. He clumsily mopped up the Dreamless Sleep potion that would've been useless even if he'd had the chance to ingest it. The attempt had been futile.<p>

Needless to say, he had been desperate for an escape from his night terrors, resulting in him turning to the potion for assistance. Seeing as there was nothing to alleviate his symptoms now, he would just have to stay awake and ride this out. Dumbledore had said that there would be breaks in between, and he could sleep when he got to that point.

Snape hoped it wouldn't be long. He was a walking zombie as it was, but knew he had to keep control while Potter was in the house. He couldn't risk falling asleep in such a mental state. Not yet, anyway. Not while the boy was still unaware of his condition. Maybe he'd be able to keep it all a secret. It would take a lot of willpower to push down his symptoms, but he had been through worse, and this was just icing on a layered cake.

So he sat on his bed restlessly, charming his pillow to knock him over the head whenever he dozed off. It was incredibly irritating and Snape had almost torn the pillow into pieces just as the sun began to crack over the horizon. Finally, he stood and made himself a steaming cup of tea in the kitchen, taking extra care to make sure he didn't drop anything this time.

His appetite was nonexistent this morning, but he forced himself to have a piece of toast with orange marmalade. He had to keep what little strength he had left. An owl arrived midway into his meager meal, dropping off the Daily Prophet and a brief note from Dumbledore.

"I shall stop by in an hour. I hope you are faring well."

~Albus

Snape sighed and tossed the note aside, taking another sip of tea. He knew he'd have to wake Potter to inform him, since the Headmaster would most certainly want to speak with him.

_Wake Potter._

Snape curled his lip up in disgust, but then twisted his face into a tight smirk.

This should be fun.

He made his way back upstairs and stood outside the door of Potter's room. Then, he swished his wand twice and stepped back.

"What! Agh!" Harry shouted in distress as his pillows slipped from underneath his cheek and proceeded to beat him over the head. His covers flung away from his body as though being burned and the mattress floated upward, leaving him hovering in midair. Unfortunately, Harry made the mistake of rolling away from the ravenous pillows, and groaned as his body made contact with the hardwood floor.

Snape smiled triumphantly at each sound of irritation.

Harry snatched his glasses off the nightstand, put them on, and crawled across the floor, shielding his head from the pillows. He clawed at the doorknob, trying to pry open the door. It took a few tries, but surely enough it came flying open. He dove for his exit, belly-first, and was met with the embarrassing sight of Snape towering over him with a look of feigned surprise and amusement.

A final smack from a pillow nearly knocked Harry's glasses off of his face, and they slipped down the bridge of his nose.

He tried not to imagine how ridiculous he looked right now. Bed-head, pajama-clad, and nearly kissing the floor.

"Snape," Harry hissed in an accusing tone. "You did this!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Snape said casually. "Get up. Professor Dumbledore will be here shortly." Harry brightened up just the slightest bit, rubbing his aching head. Still, he rose from the floor and made his way to the bathroom to clean up before venturing down to the kitchen in search of food.

He was just about to settle on preparing some eggs when a sharp "pop!" cut through the silence. Then, Kreacher the house elf stood at Harry's feet, his head bowed in mock respect. Bright blue orbs gazed at him expectantly, but held a glare of disapproval as well.

"Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black," he repeated for the umpteenth time.

"He answers to you, now," came a deep voice from the doorway.

Harry spun around to meet Snape's black eyes.

"What?"

"Black's dead. He's your house elf," Snape said very slowly and simply, treating Harry as though he was mentally incapable of understanding.

Harry glared at Snape, but turned back to Kreacher. The thing must've been hiding out somewhere last night, surprised by his new guests.

"Half-bloods…" Kreacher murmured to himself.

If this was indeed the case, if Kreacher truly belonged to Harry, that meant that he had to answer to his every command.

"Hand me the eggs, Kreacher." Kreacher sneered, and was obviously trying to resist the order. His defiance resulted in him banging his head on the counter as punishment, shrieking at the top of his lungs.

"Kreacher, stop!" Harry roared over the elf's howls, but he didn't seem to hear.

"NO! WON'T! BLOOD TRAITORS IN THE HOUSE OF BLACK!"

Snape's eyes glinted.

"Stop! I'm sorry, okay? Just stop it!" Harry begged, trying to get Kreacher to calm down.

Then, the magical bond kicked in, and Kreacher instantly came to a halt, his eyes growing sullen once more.

"Harry Potter," he muttered quietly, "Destined hero of the wizarding world."

Harry sighed, but made a note to never command Kreacher to do anything ever again. Just let him mope about.

"I'm assuming you are capable of making yourself breakfast without any further incidences?" Snape sneered.

Harry refused to answer him, and prepared his breakfast in silence. Snape sat at the small table in the middle of the kitchen, reading the Daily Prophet with a mug at hand. It definitely wasn't tea because Harry could smell yet another potion. He made sure to keep his distance from any possible fumes this time. It vaguely had scents of coffee mixed into it. Perhaps some type of energizing potion?

When Harry had filled his plate, he reluctantly sat across from Snape, knowing he might be scolded for eating in the living room, or in bed.

"I presume you won't be greeting the Headmaster in those clothes," Snape said, monotone from behind his newspaper. Harry furrowed, but Snape pointed to the boy's socks, which had a hole at the top, revealing a protruding toe. Also, his t-shirt was well worn, and he was still in his pajama pants.

"I'm going to change, obviously," Harry said defensively.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to put your fragile emotions at unease," Snape replied slyly.

Anger boiled inside of Harry. He was sick of Snape and his snide comments. The bastard always had some crafty remark.

"I presume you won't be greeting him with _that _hair," Harry spat, unable to restrain himself.

The effect was instantaneous. Snape's pupils narrowed and before Harry could duck under the table for protection, Snape had levitated Harry's pumpkin juice and splashed it over him, making sure to drench his entire t-shirt.

Snape tried not to look too pleased with the result.

Harry stood up, soaking wet and spluttering. "Git." He stormed from the table and made his way back upstairs and into the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore had obviously supplied the house with food and other resources for their stay seeing as Harry found a clean tooth brush and other toiletries waiting for him in the bathroom drawer. That explained the fresh abundance of food as well. Somehow, he just couldn't imagine Snape shopping for groceries. The image itself was ludicrous.<p>

The man was socially inept. Half the student body was still spreading the rumor that he was a bloodthirsty vampire biting into the necks of innocent first-years during their detentions.

After all, the overgrown bat deserved it. His greasy black hair and black eyes were enough to make anyone hate him. Not to mention the fact that he was a bully in the classroom, feeding off the sheepishness and humiliation of his students. Nothing would ever make up for all the "Dreadful's" that Harry received in the man's Potions class. The man was vile.

Was he even mentally capable of showing gratitude and affection, or Merlin forbid, _love_?

Definitely not.

"Harry, m'boy!" Dumbledore greeted warmly as he entered Grimmauld Place. "It's about time we had the chance to converse." Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was fearful that if he opened his mouth, all his emotions would break through his mental dam, flooding out into the open endlessly.

But Dumbledore wasn't focused on Harry at the moment, his eyes lingered over Snape, who was hunched over a book in the sitting room. His expression was calculating as he took in the man's posture. Snape gave in to the temptation and looked up from the reading, his eyes lifeless and droopy.

Albus silently interrogated him, watching him for just a few more seconds before making up his mind, and turning back to Harry.

"Harry, I think it would be best if we took a walk outside. It's a lovely day, and my old legs could use a good stretch," the Headmaster said loftily.

"Erm, okay," Harry agreed. He didn't mind leaving this building in the least. Personally, he wanted to get away from it all for a little while.

Dumbledore shot one more look at Snape before walking out the door.

The pair stepped out into the lustrous morning sunshine. The summer air was hot on their faces, but the weather was still considerably mild. The birds sang from their trees, concealed by a cloak of green leaves. Big, fluffy clouds played in the sky, floating slowly along. Harry could swear he saw a witch's hat in one of them.

"I sense something is troubling you, Harry. Is Sirius a contributor to this?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Harry nodded once more, fighting the urge to drag his feet as he walked. "He was the only family member I had left, and Voldemort's lot claimed him as well, just like all the others. His death was in vain. Nothing was gained from that battle besides destruction."

"No, Harry," Dumbledore began, "The death of a loved one is never in vain. For someone to have loved, and to have been loved in return, is worth enough to make a world of difference. I trust you won't do anything rash because of this loss."

Harry exhaled air he didn't know he had been holding. "No, I can't let down the entire wizarding world because of this. I know now that I have to fight. Neither can live while the other survives. I have to be the one who survives, or I have to at least _try_."

"It is extremely brave and wise of you to be acknowledging this in such a way, Harry," Dumbledore encouraged, his blue eyes twinkling once again. "However, you must remember that you are not in this battle alone. There are many people who would fight for you, which is why this is not a one-sided war. Love is the most powerful weapon you can ever wield, Harry."

"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered, unsure of any other way to respond.

"All will fall into its rightful place, especially when things seem most grim. Trust me, Harry."

"I trust you, sir." Harry replied confidently. He didn't doubt Dumbledore's judgment.

"Speaking of trust, I think it is time for you to make amends with your professor." Dumbledore remarked, studying Harry's reaction over his half-moon spectacles.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think that's going to work out very well." Harry admitted.

"If you truly trust me, Harry, I need you to trust in Professor Snape as well. This will prove to be very crucial in the near future."

"Crucial, sir?" Harry retorted, confused.

"I want you to resume your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape, and you will need to successfully accomplish this skill."

Harry bit his tongue to keep his mouth from falling open. "Sir, you don't understand-"

"I'm aware of the current circumstances, Harry. Regardless, it is essential for you to obtain this skill while staying with Professor Snape."

First live with Snape and now resume the Occlumency lessons? What was Dumbledore playing at? Obviously, it would be another disaster in the making.

"These lessons might also help you to control your emotions over Sirius. Your mind will need to be cleared and focused." Dumbledore explained subtly.

Harry stared blankly at Albus, green eyes lost in the blue. "Your word, Harry?"

Harry just couldn't find himself to form the word "no" in front of Dumbledore, so settled on the alternative.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. The word was just barely wrenched from within the depths of his throat. He couldn't believe he was going along with this, but could see Dumbledore's reasoning. Occlumency was important in survival and protection. It would prove to be a vital component in keeping information from Voldemort.

Still, he couldn't shake the nagging voice in the back of his head, which was spewing venom at anything having to do with Snape.

The pair walked back to the headquarters and said their goodbyes in the corridor. Snape was nowhere to be found, and Harry wasn't about to go searching for him. Let the git hide out for a while. The young wizard made his way upstairs, looking forward to seeing Hedwig resting in her cage. Dumbledore had spelled all of his belongings into Grimmauld Place before he had even arrived. He silently wondered if he might be able to learn that trick someday.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore explored the ground floor in search of Snape. He finally spotted him in the study across from the dining room, dozing fitfully in an armchair. A fresh coat of sweat covered his face as his body convulsed in fear from whatever nightmare he was experiencing this time around.

"Severus?" Dumbledore whispered, reaching out an arm and placing it on Snape's shoulder.

The man woke with a gasp, jumping and springing into action, his wand out and pointed forward in a split second. He was obviously prepared for any surprise attack, but as he took in Albus' familiar face, he relaxed, throwing his head back with a long sigh.

"Has your condition worsened?" Dumbledore whispered.

"I don't think so. It's been like this for days now," Snape replied groggily, pushing himself to sit up.

"Have you gotten any sleep?"

"Yes."

"Be honest," Dumbledore admonished.

"Just now, since you left with the boy."

"What about last night?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I couldn't sleep. I couldn't trust myself not to have a fit in my sleep," Snape explained indifferently.

"You cannot function like this. You are putting both yourself and Harry in danger by being unaware of what is happening during the day. You have to inform him, Severus."

Snape grumbled something indistinguishable, then rose from the armchair, making his way toward the door.

"I won't fall asleep like this again," Snape promised, but Dumbledore still didn't seem pleased.

Eventually, the Headmaster left and Snape was left alone in the study.

Snape vaguely wondered if he'd be as lucky as to be struck by lightning anytime soon; a creative end to a miserable life.

Dumbledore had undoubtedly relayed to Harry the next bad news. Occlumency lessons. Snape couldn't decide who it was going to be more torturous for.

But this was not the time to chicken out. He'd start the first lesson tonight. The boy was going to finally learn this, even if it killed him.


	4. A Heart Like Yours In a Time Like This

**AN: I apologize for the lack of updates. High school life is a rollercoaster that I just can't seem to walk away from. The ride is long, and I've been distracted. Sophmore year is just a few months away now. Time flies. x) **

* * *

><p><em>Life is fair. Humans are not. <em>

Harry found this to be particularly true as he stood in front of Snape, skull rippling with waves and sharp shards of pain. Images of Sirius kept inching into the front of his mind, openly revealing themselves to Snape's prodding. He picked and poked through each memory, recreating them in vicious ways that made Harry want to scream in despair.

"I see you still wear your heart on your sleeve. Precious Potter can't even clear his mind of all the golden ambitions he clings so dearly to," Snape teased.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" Harry roared, his heart rate elevating dangerously. "If your just going to stand there and be the sadistic git you are, then I won't even try to improve. You'll just be wasting your own damn time."

Snape raised an eyebrow, "And I see that the temper tantrums have not ceased either."

Before Harry could formulate a scathing reply, Snape was diving into his thoughts again. This time he was standing in front of the Mirror of Erised again. His parents were smiling down upon him, but Snape slowly appeared and stood beside the younger Harry, his coal black eyes boring into the innocent green.

Harry couldn't let Snape ruin this memory with his presence. This had happened too many times before, and Harry wouldn't stand and watch helplessly like he had before. He had managed to fight off Voldemort's possession just about a month ago. If he could take on Voldemort, Snape wouldn't stand a chance.

Harry forced himself to resist Snape's influence, pushing down and locking away all his thoughts. Then, he slammed his fist into the mirror and watched as the pieces of glass came crashing to the ground with a deep satisfaction. Snape recoiled from Harry's side and within seconds, Harry was alone with his thoughts once more.

Snape was holding himself up against the opposite wall of the study, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him when he had been shoved out of Harry's memories.

Harry tried not to look too triumphant. How was _that_ for control?

But something was still _wrong_.

For some unknown reason, Snape still couldn't catch his breath, and ended up in a violent coughing fit, gasping on the floor. Harry watched in horror, unsure of what to do, but knew that he had to do _something _other than just stand there.

"Professor?" he asked tentatively, and crept closer. The man coughed and spluttered some more, his normally pale face becoming a blotchy red.

Harry's frightened voice seemed to register something in Snape's mind because the man took on a renewed sense of strength and authority. He pushed himself away from the wall and forced himself to stand on his own two feet. He managed to succeed, even though he was still a bit wobbly.

"That's enough for today. Get out of my sight," Snape rasped.

But Harry did not move. "Are you… alright, sir?"

"Don't be an idiot, Potter. _Go._"

Harry wavered in place for a minute before turning and making his way back upstairs. Once he was safely in the comfort of his bedroom, he analyzed the situation that had just taken place. Snape had almost suffocated to death, and then shooed him away. What was happening? He rubbed his temples to rid of the pain still lingering behind them. His muscles were still smarting from that little session, reminding Harry of the pain Snape had caused him. The git deserved whatever bout of illness came over him.

Harry shook his head, and smiled as the thought reminded him of Ron. Ron would have considered it a blessing for Snape to be gasping for air in front of him, but Harry couldn't help but think that this was a little cruel. The man was still human, regardless of the actions and choices that he had done and made.

And Dumbledore still trusted him, and still trusted Harry to trust him. Surely that still meant something.

But Dumbledore could be wrong. Harry wouldn't be surprised if tonight's act was just pity play and a malicious tactic for getting Harry to lower his guard. Before he would even realize it, Snape would probably be wringing out his neck in the middle of the night.

Honestly, how could he be so gullible? Obviously this was another mind game that Harry just couldn't unravel the rules of yet.

He'd figure it out eventually.

* * *

><p>Snape paced around the perimeter of his bedroom, rubbing his tired eyes. He was slowly slipping, and soon he wouldn't be able to hide this illness anymore.<p>

He'd reached a point past denial, accepting the fact that he was indeed ill, and in dire need of medical attention.

But he'd rather go to St. Mungo's than ever convey his story to Potter. There was no way he'd let the pest become his nursemaid, and he still wasn't entirely sure that the boy would stay once he became aware of his condition.

One thing was certain; he wouldn't be able to just ride this out. He wasn't sleeping, he'd been coughing up his lungs in the silence of his room (it was charmed, thankfully), and his temper was rising as his head had begun to ache from the early onset of a low grade fever.

He assured himself that this was normal. This was expected. Everything was still going completely according to plan. He just had to stop panicking. Really, there was no point in fussing over it. If he focused his attention elsewhere, maybe he wouldn't even feel it come or go.

_There was the denial again._

Probably just a secondary side effect of the potion as well.

Still, Dumbledore had wanted this. That was the whole reason he'd been ordered to do this anyway. He was supposed to let Potter find out. Was he just supposed to crawl into Potter's arms, begging to be saved from this perpetual nightmare?

No, of course not. He would do it with more dignity than that, or so he hoped.

Night came without warning and Snape was forced to stay awake yet again, not risking the chances of letting himself freely fall into the clutches of another nightmare.

But this night held more than just vivid dreams.

Snape was trying to keep himself awake, charming another pillow to knock him on the head every once in a while, but was finding it increasingly warm and stuffy in the room. He felt trapped within his own body. Just mere hours later, he could practically feel the heat radiating off of his face. He was burning with fever and had opened the window as wide as it would go.

To make matters even worse, the dizziness was returning, and to Snape's displeasure, he realized he couldn't even move across the bedroom without stumbling over his own feet.

He'd nearly smashed his forehead on the nightstand as attempted to leave the room to get a glass of water.

Therefore, he was quite literally forced to remain on the bed now, with nothing more than that wretched pillow to reinforce his grip on his very own sanity.

And then, he grew cold. Terribly _cold_.

His body convulsed with powerful shivers, and he wrapped the bedcovers snuggly around himself against his better judgment. Making himself warmer wasn't going to help the fever. Unfortunately for Snape, he didn't have any good judgment left in him whatsoever.

That probably explained why he had the nerve to get out of bed and walk into the downstairs kitchen to retrieve a cold compress. He brought a blanket with him, teeth still chattering as he cursed under his breath, begging for a release from this illness' wrath.

He turned the faucet and ran a worn washcloth under the cold water, dreading having to put the thing on his forehead.

He felt pathetically vulnerable and almost laughed at how ridiculous he must've looked wrapped in a blanket, shivering and tripping over his own two feet. He'd be kissing the floor and crawling just to get back up the stairs again. The journey seemed so long and tedious from where he stood.

He vigilantly placed one foot in front of the other, ignoring the vertigo clawing at him.

If he managed to come down, he would manage to get back up.

Five strong steps was all it took to drain the remainder of his energy reserves. Snape's knees buckled involuntarily beneath him, sending him crashing to the carpeted ground. His body screamed at him to stop being such an idiot, to finally give in to the temptations of sleep and rest.

Snape groaned, shutting his eyes tightly as his stomach did flips and his brain pounded beneath his skull. It was cooking itself at this rate.

Just when he thought things couldn't get worse…

"Snape?" a reluctant voice called from the top of the stairs.

Snape hadn't prayed in almost 15 years, not since Lily had died, but at that very moment, he prayed that he would just die to be spared the embarrassment of all his pride leaking from his body.

And suddenly, Snape's body wasn't his own. Something instinctive had taken over. He was just an animal with a stranger's soul encased somewhere deep down.

He withdrew his wand from where he lay on the ground and pointed it at Potter's face.

Harry didn't seem intimidated in the least. If anything, he seemed even more determined to come closer.

"Are you mad?" he screeched, snatching Snape's wand from his hand. The empty hand thudded to the floor in defeat, and Snape groaned once more, sleep already claiming him from where he lay.

"Have you lost your mind? Get up! What's wrong with you?" Harry interrogated, eyes cold and hard from being awoken by the clamors of the scene that had just taken place.

Snape couldn't formulate an answer. He just laid there, lifeless and defeated. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of an answer. He just wanted to die. Right here and now. Couldn't he have that one last wish?

Harry's eyes quickly grew concerned, and suddenly it was Lily who was standing before him, her brilliant green eyes blinking worriedly at him. Her eyes were all he could see. Those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes.

"Lily," he mumbled into the crook of his arm, which was outstretched before him.

"What?" Harry glowered. He wasn't sure what Snape had just said.

Thank Merlin he wasn't.

Snape let out a final groan before letting the lethargy claim his exhausted figure.

_There was an emptiness that seared through his chest, ripping him open and then sewing him closed again. Something would tug at his soul persistently before finally relinquishing its hold. Sounds that made no sense meshed together, whispering into his ears over and over again. _

_Then his eyes caught a sliver of ruby red hair before finding the clusters of freckles and those hauntingly emerald eyes. He took in the way her eyebrows rose and the way the skin under her eyes wrinkled as she smiled. Her cheeks grew rosy as she caught his hand, pulling him forward to walk with her. _

_And suddenly he knew. He knew that though they lived in two separate worlds, their hearts sang the same sorrowful cry. His was for her and her's was for her son. Two cries that would never merge together, never meet again because of everything that had been broken. _

He felt as though he'd been out for mere minutes, maybe even seconds, but it was morning now, and rays of sunlight were pouring through the window. He covered his eyes with one arm and was surprised to find that he was now in his bed, and that the cold compress had finally found its way to his forehead.

"You're a right, good git, you know that?" Potter drawled angrily.

Snape squinted at the teenager, failing to form a sufficient glare.

"I take it _this _is your doing?" Snape spat, referring to how his body had ended up in the bed.

"Kreacher's, actually. He apparated your body upstairs. What the bloody hell were you thinking? Did you think I'd just gladly let you drop dead to the floor? Gave me a bloody heart attack," Harry went on, shoving a glass of water into Snape's trembling hands.

"Language," Snape hissed, but allowed the boy to continue his rant. He needed to hear someone shout, to make sense of everything, and since he was in no condition to do so himself, he would have to settle on someone yelling for him even if it was directed toward him.

"Dumbledore's been here. Did you honestly believe that I wouldn't figure this out? You expected me not to notice if you just fainted in the middle of the night, and never woke up again? Do really think that I'm such a bloody idiot? Dumbledore and his master plans. Once again I wasn't told _anything_, so thanks for that. I just saved your bloody life is all. What does that matter?" Harry said bitterly, his face growing a darker shade of red with each word.

Snape's scowl grew more pronounced. He huffed, "Don't title yourself a hero just yet."

Confusion grew in the pit of Snape's stomach. Why had Potter bothered to go through all of this?

Harry was apparently in no mood for Snape's scathing words today. "Next time you drop to the floor, I'm just leaving you there. Dumbledore will have to come to collect you."

Snape sneered. "Why didn't you consider doing that in first place?"

"You think that after all I've seen, all I've been through, that I would willingly let someone die in front of me? I don't care who you are. You're not Voldemort. I don't want you dead. I know what watching people die is like. I didn't need a reminder last night." Harry spat.

Snape frowned, but didn't reply. Instead, he focused on mustering up the energy to get out of bed. This was absolutely degrading. Potter's son was standing before him with that all-too-familiar look that clearly said, 'You owe me.'

It was the same look Snape had seen after James had stopped by at the Hospital Wing after the werewolf "incident" to make sure he hadn't died. This was history repeating itself. Saved by a Potter? Utterly preposterous. The thought made him feel even more sick than he already was.

James had that same annoying and… _concerned_ look that Harry wore right now. It was just so foreign and against all the other scenarios he had expected.

Snape propped himself up on his elbows.

"Are you MENTAL? Where do you think you're going? You collapsed last night, or has your delirious mind already forgotten?" Harry bellowed, seriously agitated. He shoved Snape back down with a single hand.

"I'm going to get Dumbledore. You obviously can't stay here anymore. You need St. Mungo's. Your fever has fried your bloody brains by this point," Harry said resolutely.

"Silence, Potter. You're the one driving me mad. I can still perform a perfectly acceptable 'Petrificus Totalus'."

"You wouldn't dare," Harry growled.

"I would. Your assistance is no longer necessary, nor welcome. So, _get out_."

"You're unbelievable," Harry gaped, "but I don't know why I would've expected anything else. Certainly not a 'thanks'. No, that would've been too much. I don't have any expectations of decency from you anymore."

"And you would know all about decency wouldn't you, Potter?" Snape mocked.

"Let's just settle this already. Why are you so intent on hating me?"

"Why are you so intent on letting me live?" Snape retorted. "I thought you couldn't stand even looking me in the eyes after Black's death. Surely, you're still blaming me for that as well."

"I'm not here to find some sort of justification for what was done to Sirius. I meant it when I said I don't want you dead. Not on my watch anyway. You're just cross because you're still angry about what Sirius and my father did to you all those years ago. So, you got humiliated in front of the whole school, big deal. You call that bad? I watched people get murdered by someone who didn't even know them," Harry replied heatedly.

"Oh, please, Potter. You think I haven't seen people die? I've seen more than you could possibly imagine, and I knew all about your saint father and his wonderful sidekicks. "

"Yeah, but he still grew up better off than you, didn't he? He married, had me, and worked toward bringing people like Voldemort down. He died innocent, but yet you have the nerve to stand before me when you worked for the people who killed my parents. He tried to fight evil, but you're just a part of that evil. Innocent people like my parents, Cedric, and Sirius died, but you still live. Tell me why is that?" Harry ranted, breathing heavily.

"You don't know me. You don't know why I've done the things I've done, and it's none of your business anyway," Snape said plainly.

"Not my business? You're part of the reason why all of my family members are dead! Why haven't you been killed off yet? Why did Dumbledore spare you? Why does he still trust you after all you've done?"

The fifteen year old paced back and forth, trying to control his temper. Immediately, he regretted what he had said. He had gone too far and it wouldn't be wise to attack Snape in his state. Fighting could kill him, and though Harry felt that at the moment he didn't care anymore, he knew that it wasn't true. He was just angry, and anger caused rash decision making and dangerous consequences.

"Why don't you go and ask him then?" Snape responded simply. He wasn't looking to pick a fight right now. He was too tired to shout. He would let the boy blow off steam and leave. At least no harm would be done if Snape didn't provoke him too much. It might keep the teen at bay for a while, giving Snape a chance to tend to himself.

"I have." Harry sighed, stopping his pacing. He stared at Snape dead in the eyes, silently challenging him to say something.

"This has nothing to do with your hatred for me," Snape noted casually.

"I'm living in my dead godfather's house with his room right across from mine, his possessions all untouched. What do you think this is about?"

"I didn't kill, Black."

"I know," Harry said slowly. "I know. I just can't stand this place. I can't stand any of it, and to know that Dumbledore planned all of this is even worse."

"Dumbledore has fooled many. He's a powerful wizard, but won't tolerate those who stand in the way of his plans."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to start badmouthing Dumbledore. He's done a lot for me. I owe him."

Snape tried to soften his tone to show that he wasn't trying to provoke Harry. "Go, Potter. Just stay in the house, and don't do anything predictably stupid."

Harry smirked. "The same could be said for you."

Snape scowled. "Cheeky brat."

In the end, Harry obliged and left the room after giving Snape another calculating look. Both of them needed to be alone. This was a lot to take in.

It wasn't until Harry had made his way back in the kitchen that he realized that the previous confrontation was the only one between him and Snape that hadn't turned out to be catastrophic. They had both calmed. They both knew that there was little to no choice in how their situation was unfolding.

He would play nice, for now. The man was as sick as a dog, and this was a fight which held no victor. Old prejudices never sought victors in their midst.

Humans might've been unfair, but it took courage to be able to back down from them. Some wars weren't worth fighting. Some wars couldn't be won. Some wars were better left surrendered.

After all, there were bigger wars to fight.


	5. Evening of Score

The sun had just set over the horizon by the time Snape awoke again. He was uncomfortably aware of how stiff his muscles felt. It was as though he'd been wrung out like a towel, all tangled and constricted. He tentatively sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face. Something clicked against the window as he disentangled himself from the clutches of the bedcovers, and he curiously strode over to investigate.

A snow white owl greeted him with a freshly caught mouse gripped in her mouth. Her golden eyes blinked at him expectantly. Snape was sure he'd seen this animal before, and vaguely deduced that it must belong to Potter.

"You're _not _entering this house with that monstrosity in your mouth." Snape snarled, lip curling in disgust.

Hedwig quickly grew annoyed, flapping her wings fervently in discontent. When Snape proceeded to ignore her, she gave off an ear shattering screech.

Snape screwed his eyes shut as the beginning of a migraine worked its way through his temples. He didn't even take the time to notice another figure stepping into the room.

"What's going on?" Harry interrogated, sweeping into the room and over to the window.

"Ah, I suppose this _endearing_ creature is just displaying affection at the prospect of meeting a new companion," Snape hissed, eyes glaring at Hedwig's. "Get it and that rodent out of here before I kill it."

Harry frowned. "Not an owl person, huh?"

"Not after being privileged enough to meet all of Dumbledore's messengers over the years."

Harry slid the window open and complimented Hedwig's new catch, then sent her off to continue her hunt for the remainder of the night.

"No letters today, Hedwig. The night is yours," Harry rubbed her head as a goodbye and watched her take flight again before shutting the window.

"Sorry about that. She loves showing off her achievements."

"Much like her master," Snape growled, but made no further comment.

Harry surrendered with a sigh. He was actually getting quite used to Snape's remarks by now. They all lacked the personal attacks that Harry used to always find hidden in them. Suddenly, they didn't matter at all. The man's cynicism was actually bearable for once.

And the fact still remained that Harry wasn't exactly sure what Snape's condition was at the moment. Dumbledore hadn't really stuck around to give out all the logistics of the potion Snape had been forced to take. Therefore, until Harry deemed his foe fit to argue with, he'd keep his composure.

"You missed Dumbledore _again_, but don't worry, I told him you weren't dying or anything, so he shouldn't be back for a while," Harry murmured, making his way back to the doorway.

Oh, there was just _so_ much that Snape wanted to say, but his fever was jumbling his thoughts together in giant clumps and clots. He couldn't formulate a decent argument even if he tried, so he just settled on brooding for the meantime.

"Erm-," Harry rubbed the back of the neck awkwardly. "So, do you need anything?"

"Potter," Snape said sternly, "I assure you that I am not in need of a nursemaid at the present time. Please direct yourself out, or I will personally see you on your way."

"I see you're feeling better," Harry rolled his eyes.

Oh, _oh, _how Snape wanted to just hex the brat's head off, but lacked the energy to do so.

The fifteen year old rocked on his heels for a moment before hesitantly saying, "You slept the day away, so you should probably eat something. You should have some water at least."

Snape's expression grew more murderous by each passing second. "Potter, my threat of petrifying you still stands."

"Dumbledore warned me of your threats. He specifically mentioned that I should pay them no mind. So, some tea, then? Great." Harry murmured, refusing to give up this early in the game. He would prove to Snape that he was capable of being as obstinate as he was.

Snape scowled, but followed Harry down the stairs to make sure no poisonous substances were mixed into his tea while he was caught off guard. The boy might've been playing nice now, but that didn't mean that he didn't have some underlying strategy to turn this entire situation upside-down. He was just a teenager. He couldn't be trusted.

But it turned out that Harry did not, in fact, slip anything remotely dangerous into the mug, and handed Snape his tea without a single snide comment.

Snape sat at the dining room table, musing on the fact that the only time he had entered this room in the past was for a meeting of the Order of The Phoenix. He never stayed long; he'd always tried to avoid Black as much as humanly possible. He watched as Harry sat down across from him, Quidditch catalog at hand. Snape raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he was dawdling.

"Dumbledore also said that you need to be supervised lest you faint again." Harry elaborated, flipping a page casually.

That was one memory Snape didn't fancy reminiscing.

"Potter, I'm sure you could be spending your time more productively elsewhere rather than clinging to me like a hungry dog," Snape said, taking a sip of tea.

"Yeah, I could be," Harry agreed absently, making no move to abandon the seat he was situated in.

The entire scenario was rather foreign and confusing for Snape. The boy was genuinely attempting to help him and Snape had no choice, but to put up with his sudden desire to help. Snape was forced to stay inside the house, which ruled out the possibility of just leaving the boy here and going out for a nice firewhiskey. He would most certainly splinch himself if he apparated, and he couldn't walk the distance. Hell, he could barely walk at all.

He finished the rest of his tea with this train of thought before standing up and making his way back up the stairs. The action took more effort on Snape's part than it should have, but he managed to hold his ground and make his way successfully into the bedroom. When Harry was convinced that Snape wasn't going to keel over and die anytime soon, he left the room and went to go tend to his own business.

Snape on the other hand, sulked at the fact that he had been stripped down to his most miserable state. He felt like a man that had lived a hundred years too long. He couldn't read; his eyes deciphered words at an alarmingly gradual rate. He couldn't write any letters; his hands shook with horrible tremors, and worst of all, he couldn't brew any potions with his useless hands. His concentration was completely off, and he would just end up scalding himself before making any notable progress.

Thus, he was forced to let his mind control the rest of his body, forcing him to succumb to yet another round of sleep.

* * *

><p>He woke up in a cold sweat, adrenaline pumping through his veins after having dreamt some ridiculous dream once more. Nightfall had arrived yet again, and Snape grew aware of his dire need for water. His tongue felt like cardboard against his teeth, which indicated his dehydration.<p>

This time, he didn't take the chance of getting up to get the water himself. The trip was long, and he didn't think he'd be able to make it that far.

Ultimately, he was left with two options. He would either have to call Harry for assistance, or shrivel up and die here in silence. Choice two seemed like the obvious winner, but Snape knew Albus wouldn't let him off that easy. The man would find a way to raise him from the dead to make him complete any tasks the man had set upon him. There was a reason he had forced Snape to stay in this house with Potter, but he wasn't exactly sure what lied underneath the man's auspices just yet.

So, Snape stowed away his pride for the meantime, deciding that survival and a quick recovery were more important at the moment.

"Potter," he groaned, angry at himself for this display of vulnerability.

He was met with no response.

"Potter!" he shouted in a sharper tone, knocking on the wall behind him for good measure. The sound would vibrate throughout the boy's room, and would be impossible not to notice.

Still no response.

Snape's initial thought was that Harry had left, or now refused to help him. What a coward. First, he had clung to him like a second skin all day, and now he decided that he'd helped enough? Well, that just wouldn't do. Snape was going to have to-

THUMP.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt at the sound. His next concern was that the house had been attacked or infiltrated. Surely, there were dark wizards downstairs that had discovered their headquarters, making it no longer safe. What if they had taken Potter? Where was that boy, anyway?

Snape whipped out his wand and stumbled out of bed, kicking away the rumpled bedcovers. He felt a renewed surge of energy fill him as he swung his door open and quietly listened for another indication as to where the sounds of distress were coming from.

Another thud followed the first, and the sound led Snape directly to Black's dusty, old room. He kicked the door open without a second thought, only to be met with the sight of Harry crouched on the ground, back faced toward Snape.

"Potter?" Snape called slowly, wand still raised.

Green eyes turned to face his black ones. The emerald orbs were filled to the brim with unshed tears, and held an emotion that Snape had only seen once before in his entire life. It was the same expression Snape's face had held when he discovered Lily had died. The eyes that had stared back at him in the mirror that day were so lost, dead, and cold, as though the soul behind them had gone missing.

And now, as Snape stared at Harry's hopeless eyes, he was reminded of Lily, crying after having been insulted by another Slytherin boy in her second year at Hogwarts.

Snape knew no more hatred at that precise moment. He spoke before he could stop himself.

"What's happened?" he queried, not moving from his place in the doorway.

Harry offered no response, and simply hung his head.

The possibility that they had been attacked had still not been vanquished from Snape's mind.

"Are you hurt?" he prodded.

Harry's breath hitched as he turned away from Snape once more. The older man took time to survey the area, noting the smashed glass surrounding Harry.

Snape concluded that it was Harry who had caused the ruckus, and that the headquarters remained to be safe and out of Danger's way. He lowered his wand with a sigh.

Snape was at a loss of what to do next. His need for water had been dismissed as a low priority right now as he observed the crying teenager huddled on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees. He didn't turn to face Snape again, so Snape took it as his cue to step into the room.

"Get up, Potter. Why are you such a blubbering mess?" Snape said exasperatedly even though he already had a good guess as to what had happened. This was Black's room, after all, and Harry hadn't entered it since the man's death. Obviously, this was what had him so worked up.

Really, this was just another reason as to why Snape had never wanted children of his own even though he worked with them everyday. He wasn't good with tears or melodramatic teenagers. It simply wasn't his forte. After all, he had never been consoled as a teenager so he certainly didn't know how these things were supposed to go. He usually managed to avoid situations like these at all costs.

Harry lifted his head up from his knees and gave Snape a withering glare. "Go away, Snape. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, believe me, I came here out of my own greedy interests. I was merely calling you to fetch something for me when I realized you were nowhere to be found," Snape replied coolly.

"Sorry, your servant is taking a recess," Harry grumbled back, standing up and brushing some dust off of his trousers. "I better clean up this glass," he added numbly.

"Stop," Snape muttered as he caught a glimpse of Harry's blood streaked hand. "You've already managed to slice your hand open. I'll clear up this mess."

Without waiting for a reply, Snape flourished his wand once, and all the glass from the broken mirror was repaired as though no harm had ever been done.

"Now, come along," Snape commanded, sweeping out of the room.

"What are you doing?" Harry murmured as the pair entered the bathroom.

Snape snatched up Harry's hand.

"We're going to fix this," he stated, pointing to the gash on Harry's palm with his wand. His hands shook slightly with tremors, which didn't go unnoticed by Harry, but he successfully managed to clean the wound without much trouble. He returned to his bedroom and then back to Harry with an eerily green potion. He uncorked it and let three drops fall onto the open gash.

"Ouch!" Harry yelped, attempting to pull away his hand from the wrath of Snape's potion by using his free hand to claw at Snape's wrist as a sign to release him.

"Hush," Snape said, swatting Harry's uninjured hand away. He watched calculatingly as the skin began to heal itself gradually. Snape seemed satisfied with the result and flicked his wand once more to wrap the hand in an adhesive bandage. It was fastened together snuggly before Snape finally released Harry.

Harry glared once more at Snape, though its effect had died down due to Harry's inability to look intimidating through puffy, bloodshot eyes.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'll be getting myself some water and turning in for the night. In theory, your hand should be healed by the morning with no scarring. However, do tell me if you experience any side effects such as numbness. It may be that your hand has turned to stone since the potion isn't commonly used on wizards under the age of sixteen." Snape murmured with a dry smile.

"Git," Harry sniffed, rubbing a hand fervently over his face.

Snape made his way out of the room, but stumbled. The energy he had acquired before seemed to have dissipated sooner than he would have liked. Thankfully, he caught himself on the doorframe.

"I'll get the water," Harry mumbled.

Snape made an irritated noise, but nodded nonetheless. Harry entered the bedroom not a minute later, glass of water now at hand. Snape took it from him and chugged it greedily, foggy mind clearing after fighting the dehydration.

"Now, Potter. Tell me one thing, did you purposely slice your hand open?" Snape speculated, placing the empty glass back on his nightstand.

"No," Harry said indignantly, green eyes sparking defensively. "Why would I do that?"

Snape gave Harry another calculating look. "Everyone copes with grief differently," he stated from his seat on the bed.

"I'm not here to just help you, am I? Dumbledore wants you to keep an eye on me. He thinks I'll do something stupid like hurt myself intentionally because of what happened to Sirius," Harry said knowingly.

Snape glowered. "Yes."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I wouldn't do anything that stupid. It would be an insult to his memory," Harry spat bitterly.

Snape felt himself drowning in the fervent, green gaze again. "You have a right to be upset."

"Do I? Because it seems like everyone just expects me to be the hero. I'm not a hero. I don't know what I'm doing half the time, and I don't know why a total stranger is out on the loose, trying to kill everyone I ever knew. I don't even have a good reason to fight him anymore," Harry ranted, frustrated with himself.

Just as Snape had stowed away his pride before, he decided to stow away his anger at Harry along with it. He understood the boy more than he would ever know.

"You know that's not true. You're going to keep fighting this war," Snape stated matter-of-factly.

"And why is that? Why does everyone expect that from me?" Harry tried to keep from shouting.

"Because you'll fight for everyone you've lost."

Harry sighed in defeat. He seemed to be confiding a lot in Snape lately. He hoped this wasn't some new trend he had formed. Why would he be telling all of this to Snape as opposed to everyone else? Maybe because he knew that Snape didn't care what Harry did or said. They had no expectations of each other. Still, they listened to each other, despite their mutual hatred.

"How do you know that? You're a Death Eater! What do you know about losing people you care about?" Harry exclaimed helplessly, green eyes shimmering with pain again.

Oh, how Snape hated to see those eyes on the face of his worst enemy. The boy was so very much like James, but it was at times like these that Snape couldn't help but see Lily's anger and frustrations being released through Harry. He was more like his mother than he would ever realize. It was no use arguing with the boy like this, so he remained calm for Lily's sake. He hoped she wasn't witnessing this little scene unfold.

"Everyone has lost friends and family to the war," Snape replied, emphasizing the generalization.

"And it's partially _your_ fault. I hate you. I really hate you," Harry said shakily. "Yet, I'm helping you, and I don't want you dead. I hate that Sirius hated you, and it makes me feel like I should be hating you for him. He would want me to hate you. He would never understand why I'm helping you."

"Why are you helping me, then?" Snape asked.

"I don't know. You've known me since I started Hogwarts, and Dumbledore has always been saying that I should trust you. You saved me from falling off my broomstick in my first year. Why did you do that? I could ask you the same question; why did you help me?"

Snape was stumped. It was a rare occurrence, but he couldn't reply to that question without giving himself away.

"Don't read into it too much," Snape growled. "I think you've had enough tantrums and excitement for one night. Go to bed."

Harry glared at Snape for a bit longer, but turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Snape sighed. So much for being civil to one another.

And as he went back to sleep that night, he wondered if it was a disgrace to Lily's memory to refuse to tell Harry the full recount of what had happened the night when his mother had died.

Yet, he could rest assured that James would be rolling in his grave the day Snape revealed his old friendship with Lily to Harry.

And _that _made Snape feel just the slightest bit better.


	6. Teacups and Tumbles

**Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates to this story, but I'm determined to finish it even if it kills me at this point. x) Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Morning loomed over Snape again, much too his chagrin, yet he was determined to make his way downstairs for a proper breakfast to start off the day. He'd be damned if he lazily slept the day away again without doing anything remotely productive. So, with a barely stifled groan and a few protesting cracks from his knees, he dragged himself downstairs wearily. He'd rather die than be secluded in that stuffy room for a single minute longer.<p>

He entered the kitchen slowly, lacking his usual fast pace and intimidating stance as he proceeded to plop himself in the nearest wooden chair for a quick breather. It was only then that he acknowledged that he was not the only person in the room.

Potter sat across from him, eyes downcast at the Daily Prophet in mock curiosity as he sipped on some pumpkin juice. He seemed hell-bent at avoiding him at all costs, never catching Snape's prodding, inky eyes even for the slightest second. He finished his frugal meal consisting of some pancakes in a hurry, bounding his way up the stairs as soon as the opportunity presented itself, newspaper still at hand.

Snape sighed, second guessing himself as to why he'd concluded it was a good idea to come down the stairs for this unfolding drama. He could've stayed tucked away from the world for another few weeks until his time with Potter would be up, but no, he had voluntarily chosen to subject himself to the boy's silent treatment.

Truth be told, Snape had always tried his best to keep his interests in the boy's personal life to a minimum. He didn't want to be reminded of Lily. Merlin, he didn't even want to admit that the boy was related to her, but those blasted eyes had forced him to think otherwise. Obviously, the boy had inherited more than just her eyes, but Snape didn't want to know what those other traits were. He had been convinced that it was best not to know, but after witnessing Potter's little emotion breakdown last night, his interests had peaked to record heights.

He tried to convince himself that he wanted nothing to do with the boy, and that it might even be dangerous for the boy to be so exposed to a Death Eater, but his illness had clouded his judgment. He had been filled with a renewed need to bring Lily back into his life, no matter how that might be accomplished.

_Lily's gone, you daft fool. _

He tried to urge himself that she would never be back, and that it was wrong to try to resurrect some part of her through her son, no matter how pitifully hopeful he might be.

He cleared his thoughts and went back to his nonexistent meal, furrowing his eyebrows at a certain something resting on the kitchen table standing before him. On the oak surface, stood a porcelain teacup, innocently gazing up at him, still emanating small puffs of steam.

When had that gotten there? Had it been sitting there all along? Had Potter actually made him tea out of voluntary consideration?

Snape sat dumbfounded, vaguely self-conscious of how idiotic he must've looked. His eyes trailed back to the stairs, scanning over the path Potter's retreating form had taken. With a suspicious quirk of the brow, he picked up the offending cup and sniffed at it tentatively. Had something been slipped into the drink when his guard was down?

Yet, as hard as Snape tried to deem the beverage unsafe for consumption, he couldn't find anything wrong with the liquid. Hesitantly, he took a sip of the hot tea, squeezing his eyes shut while waiting for some sort of magical onslaught to take place. He swallowed, opening his eyes a few seconds later with another bewildered expression.

_Perfectly normal… Remarkable. Potter hadn't plotted to kill him, after all. _

He was shaken out of his stupor much sooner than he would have liked by the sound of the front door opening. With another furrow, he placed the teacup back on the table and bolted from his chair to the corridor, only to find Potter walking out of the house, broomstick and wand close at hand.

"And where do you think you're going?" Snape inquired to Harry's turned back, catching how the boy's stance stiffened at his discovery.

"Flying," Harry murmured over his shoulder, clutching his broomstick more tightly in his hand.

"In the middle of a Muggle town? Have you lost what little brains you have?" Snape scoffed, taking a step closer to the boy in question.

"I'll find an empty field or something. I haven't flied for months," Harry hissed, aggravation growing in his tone as his eyes wandered to the beautiful, bright-blue sky. He pushed the door open as far as it would go on its hinges before letting his other hand fall to his side once more, never turning to look back at his interrogator.

"I don't think so," Snape finally replied. "Don't be a fool, Potter. Get back inside. "

"No," the teen said haughtily.

_The nerve._

"I beg your pardon? You're deliberately being difficult to gain attention, aren't you, Potter?" Snape smirked provokingly, though he was not amused in the least. The boy wasn't going to go anywhere, not on his watch anyway.

"You heard me," the boy continued, walking out past the threshold. I just need to—" he struggled to find the proper words.

"What is it that you need so urgently, Potter? Do feel free to share," Snape remarked impatiently as Harry finally took the liberty of turning back to face his temporary roommate. Those striking green eyes pierced Snape once more, and somehow he knew what Harry was going to say before he even spoke the words. He'd been in this same position during his first year at Hogwarts after engaging in a heated argument with Lily.

"_I need to be normal for a while." _

Snape opened his mouth to reply after expertly concealing his surprise. The statement echoed in his mind over and over again as he tried to grasp the situation at hand. Still, he didn't know if he could trust his fevered mind to speak for him.

Yet, he could remember his reply to Lily on that bitter, winter day. The rooftop of the astronomy tower ha been coated in a thick layer of snow, white flakes dancing through the air in swirls as they passed.

"_Who wants to be normal?" _

He did not utter this aloud, (thank Merlin's beard) but instead said, "Nonsense. You take pride in your heroics, or have you already forgotten? Why would you want to be normal? Get inside. If you don't comply, you will be forced. It's not safe for you to be dawdling outside without supervision; you could get lost or injured. The last thing we need is for you to break your neck while riding on that bloody broomstick of yours."

Harry's eyes hardened. "I have to go out. You can't expect me to just sit in this house for the next three days without ever stepping out for some fresh air. You're just being a prat."

Snape frowned deeply, but refused to get into another argument with the teenager. Boys would be boys and as the adult in the situation, he couldn't stoop down to Potter's level of childish deviance.

But his feverish mind was playing tricks on him again, overruling his rational thoughts.

"Fine, go, but don't expect me to go out searching for your sorry arse later. And for Merlin's sake, be a little more discreet next time. Mark my words, don't ever become a spy, Potter," Snape snarled, intent on teaching the boy a lesson on listening to his elders. Perhaps he wouldn't run into the face of danger itself after this little escapade he was allowing the child to go on.

Harry looked back at Snape with a skeptical look. Experimentally, he took two more steps forward, revolving his head back a few times to check whether Snape had changed his mind or not. With a swelling sense of victory, Harry sprinted the rest of the way from the house, trying to get as far away from this Muggle town as possible so that he could find an abandoned area to fly around in.

With a soft sigh, Snape shut the door and turned back to the kitchen, eyes wavering on the teacup still sitting on the table. What was he thinking, allowing the boy out on his own?

Dumbledore was going to let him have it if he ever found out about this.

* * *

><p>Three hours; that's how long the boy had been out on his own. Three, measly hours, but Snape's heart raced faster with each passing second. The weather had taken a turn for the worse as well, rain steadily beating down on the streets. He didn't know why he was so concerned for the child's wellbeing, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for giving in to a moment of anger and weakness.<p>

His elevated senses had somehow overruled his lethargic feelings and the bothersome effects of his ever-present fever. He sat in his usual armchair in the sitting room, foot tapping on the carpet as he debated his next move.

Somehow, his eyes flittered back to the porcelain cup in the kitchen. He'd finished the rest of the tea it had held, but hadn't bothered to clean it, let alone move it.

The tea that Potter had made for him was such a small gesture, and Snape felt almost completely convinced that he was looking into it far more than he should have. However, that wretched teacup was mocking him now, accusing him of putting a considerate, innocent child in harm's way, making him seem like a monster.

At least Potter was attempting to make an effort in mending the strained relationship between the two while Snape obstinately refused to offer the boy any consoling token after he'd been clearly distraught the night before.

_Lily would be upset with him._

Snape growled under his breath, slamming a clenched fist against the armrest of his seat before sitting up, shrugging on a light cloak, and grabbing an umbrella, fully prepared to give the boy a proper thrashing should he find him safe and sound.

He stepped out into the wall of water outside, wondering where he should start his search. He'd seen Harry make a right turn, so he mindlessly followed the path, thinking about where he might've gone if he'd been the one who'd wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He passed antique, muggle shops, delis, Laundromats, and a seemingly perpetual line of suburban homes before finding a small playground just two streets down from a large church.

Well, if Snape had wanted time alone, he definitely wouldn't have gone to a playground, but it made sense that Potter might've decided to go there with his broomstick, hiding beyond a group of trees.

He trudged through the pools of water forming at his feet, making his way past some swing sets and slides before spotting a figure huddling under a tree, knees curled up to their chest. Snape sighed, this boy was going to send him to an early grave with all these false-alarms. First, it was the episode he'd caused last night, and now this.

"Potter?" Snape called out to him over the pounding rain, wind howling around the pair. He made his way over to the tree and leaned down to shake the boy's shoulder roughly, swearing under his breath.

Harry's eyes fluttered open as he raised his head from his knees, groggy eyes regarding Snape coldly. "What?"

"Don't you dare say 'what' to me again, you brat. Get up this instant before I inform St. Mungo's of your apparently unstable mental condition," Snape retorted hotly, gripping Harry up by the arm and pulling him to his feet. "Honestly, this babysitting act is getting old," he droned.

"Erm, I-I couldn't find my way back. I just needed to think, and… and… I didn't think it would start raining," Harry explained dully, flinching as Snape pulled him under the umbrella harshly.

"Stupid boy. I took a straight path to get here! Even someone as barmy as yourself couldn't possibly have gotten lost!" Snape chided through the roaring wind. Reluctantly, he shed his cloak and splayed it across the width of Harry's shoulders in an attempt to warm his shivering hide. "You're bloody lucky you weren't attacked! Dumbledore would've had my neck."

Harry looked up at Snape, dumbstruck as two pale hands tightened the cloak around his trembling body, shoving him forward as they walked back to Grimmauld Place in awkward silence.

"I suppose you didn't get much flying done?" Snape joked dryly, causing Harry to cease his walking abruptly as he took his time to gape at the taller man.

_Let it never be said that Severus Snape never made an attempt at being good-humored._

Harry shook his head with a dark glare directed at Snape, who had the audacity to be amused at Harry's ill-tempered form. "Go ahead, say it," the boy challenged as they began walking again, Snape adjusting the umbrella.

"I've no idea what you mean," Snape lied smoothly, pushing at Harry's back to get him to walk faster. The teen stumbled a bit at the sudden contact, but recovered well, eyes still boring into Snape's.

"Very well, then," Snape smirked proudly. _"I told you so."_

* * *

><p>Within record time, Harry was situated in front of the fireplace, a mug of tea wrapped in his hands as he attempted to warm up from the sudden turn of events that had literally soaked him to the bone.<p>

Harry had to admit that he might've just felt a twinge of grateful relief as he had spotted Snape's figure through the rain that had been showering over him for a good twenty minutes or so. Still, he would never tell anyone that he'd actually been _happy_ to see Snape. He was beginning to wonder whether he was coming down with something himself, which would explain this sudden tolerance for Snape's presence constantly hovering around him.

"I thought you said that you weren't going to come after me, today," he suddenly noted in the still atmosphere of the room. Snape was sitting in the armchair he'd been occupying previously, reading some sort of book that undoubtedly had something to do with Potions.

"I said no such thing," Snape defended himself. "I said don't _expect _me to come looking for you. I never said I wouldn't."

Harry rolled his eyes with a smirk. Of course, he should have been expecting that downright denial from the man. He sat up in his own chair and finished the rest of his tea, setting the empty mug on a side-table. "Still, why did you do it? Were you worried about what Dumbledore was going to do to you if he found out?"

Snape shut his book with a resounding smack, sitting up from his reclined position. "I think you should put the house elf to work in the kitchen for dinner," he suggested, completely ignoring Harry's musings.

The boy wasn't going to give up that easily. Dinner could wait. "You didn't answer my question."

"Potter, I am thoroughly spent after having to come to your rescue, yet again. You've been making it a habit as of late, and I for one, can't muster enough energy to keep up at the moment. So, if you wouldn't mind, belt up for once in your life," Snape hissed, reminding Harry of a grouchy cat who had been denied his sleep for too long. Snape stood from his chair, cursing his aching bones from the long stroll he had subjected himself to earlier in the day.

"Don't fall going up the stairs," Harry barked after him with a cheeky look in his eyes as he recounted the night when he had first discovered the truth behind Snape's condition.

"I _hope_ you get pneumonia from floundering about in that cold rain," Snape grumbled, storming his way back into his bedroom, grasping the railing of the staircase as he ascended.

Harry chuckled airily and stood up as well, taking his mug into the kitchen to wash it. However, he stopped as his eyes fell on the teacup he had set out for Snape during breakfast. It was empty and cold to the touch as he lifted it with a surprised expression. He felt a strange feeling stirring inside the pit of his stomach as though he were missing a crucial piece to some giant puzzle. With a huff, he swiped the object off the table and brought it over to the sink, still pondering over the day's events.

Grudgingly, he decided that Snape wasn't the worst company he could've imagined, though he wished he was. It seemed as though the man was slowly letting his guard down, but Harry blamed that on the increasing vengeance of his illness. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would think of all of this and immediately regretted that he had not written to them in quite some time now. Maybe it was best if they didn't know, not yet anyway. He'd give it some time.

* * *

><p>Nearly half a week later, it seemed that Snape had finally reached one of the "breaks" in his supposed illness. It would be an understatement to say that he was thankful that he'd slept through the entire night without jolting awake even once. The nightmares were still plaguing his mind though, healthy or not. Still, he was relieved to know that a week and a half of the potion's side-effects had been put behind him, meaning that he'd just have to survive another week and a half to be set free from this entrapment with Potter.<p>

Speaking of Potter, after growing sick of the boy's whining and complaining, he'd conceded to letting the boy go out today, even if it meant that Snape was going to have to accompany him. Harry had been as ecstatic as ever since last night, suddenly rejuvenated with a new sense of excitement.

Snape had to admit, it was nice to see the boy being a little more chipper after everything that had happened. Potter had been sulking and brooding for days, grieving in the house over Black, but now that he had the opportunity to step foot into the outside world again, all that seemed to be put behind him for the time being.

Snape had agreed to go with Harry to the local, community park, which would no doubt be bustling with annoying children all day due to the sunshine beaming down from the sky. Yet, Snape wanted to leave the house as well, knowing that if the isolation and seclusion didn't kill them, the musky and humid atmosphere would.

It was sweltering hot when the pair reached the park, Snape scowling the entire journey and complaining about how ridiculous it was that he had to babysit Harry for the umpteenth time, like a toddler who couldn't be left alone. However, after settling on a nearby bench with a book propped against his knees, Snape wasn't as crabby as he had been, relishing in the silence. Thankfully, they'd found a child-free area of the park, meaning that no little parasite was going to ruin the atmospheric vibe.

Harry on the other hand, was sprawled out on the grass by a tree just a few yards to the side of the bench Snape was occupying, lying on his back with his hands outstretched toward the direction of the sun, watching as light passed through the spaces between his fingers. It was nice to just relax in the sunshine after being cooped up in Grimmauld Place for so long.

"It's amazing, how similar you are to a two-year old in the way in which you play with your hands," Snape buzzed from his bench, not even turning his head to see Harry's reaction.

"What is that you're reading, anyway? Another Potions manual?" Harry antagonized, stretching his arms over his head and ignoring Snape's previous comment.

"I'll have you know that—" Snape cut himself off, eyes trailing over to where a "parasite" had wandered into their vicinity. "So much for getting some peace and quiet," Snape thought inwardly, but before he could even formulate another silent rant within himself, the little girl promptly tripped over her roller-skates; kissing the dirt path she had been riding along.

Surprisingly enough, Harry was up on his feet in an instant, kneeling down to help the little, muggle girl.

"Are you alright?" he asked her gently, reaching out to inspect the palms of the frightened, blonde-headed child.

Tears swelled in the girl's eyes, threatening to spill at any moment, and sure enough, five seconds later she erupted into loud sobs and wails, holding out her scraped hands for Harry to miraculously heal.

"It's okay. Look, it's not too bad," Harry told her soothingly, rubbing her arm. "No blood."

The little girl hiccupped, burying her head into the teen's shoulder. "O-Okay."

Snape looked on, taken aback. He wordlessly hung back, having enough sense to not interfere.

Then, the girl's mother came rushing up the path, immediately falling to her knees upon reaching her daughter. "There you are," she breathed. "Don't wander off like that, love. Are you alright? Did you fall?"

"I'm okay," the girl chimed sheepishly, looking up endearingly at Harry. "This boy helped me."

The mother of the girl smiled warmly at Harry. "Thank you very much, young man."

"It wasn't a problem," Harry reassured, standing up from his kneeling position.

"I'm Elizabeth! What's your name?" the girl smiled brightly, having already forgotten about the injuries she'd sustained from the tumble.

"I'm Harry," Harry replied, trying to rival the girl's enthusiasm to prove that he was interested in the conversation.

"Thank you, Harry," the mother interjected before looking down at Elizabeth. "Come, darling, we have to go. Daddy is waiting for us. Say goodbye."

"Buh-bye, Harry!" Elizabeth said shrilly, departing down the path with her mother.

Harry nodded and waved to her, watching her disappear into the distance before turning back to Snape.

"Always have to be the hero, Potter, don't you?" Snape immediately teased, looking up from the book he had been pretending to seem interested in during the entire ordeal.

Harry grinned genuinely for the first time since Sirius' death, feeling free and alive again for some reason. "Someone has to be," he replied, still sporting his toothy smile as he retreated back to his position by the tree.

Snape smirked when he was sure Harry wasn't watching, astounded at how gentle and concerned the boy had been toward the child. The scene could've made the coldest of hearts melt. Perhaps, he didn't know Harry as well as he thought he had, frowning at the aspect before turning back to his book.

Now there was no denying it, Harry was definitely Lily's son.

And that scared Snape to death.

He wasn't actually starting to _care_ for the boy, was he?

No, that would be preposterous.


	7. Lord of Misery

**Author's Note: Sorry for the slow updates, again. School has been rather hectic. However, thank you all for the wonderful support. :) **

* * *

><p>In the matter of a few days, the house had been reborn with a new kind of life. Comfortable silence replaced an otherwise dreary atmosphere that had loomed over the domain for quite some time. Perhaps time could not heal all wounds, but it could certainly draw attention away from the initial pain. Days of walking through the still hallways had dulled any previous sense of mourning.<p>

Harry had to admit that he could feel the crippling emotion of grief lifting its hold on him. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not Sirius would feel forgotten and abandoned if he allowed himself to move on. He knew it was silly to think that he should ever be denied the simple pleasure of laughing again and experiencing the joy that could still be found in the crevices of an unforeseeable future. After all, he was still just a child. Still, the thought continued to remain buried in the back of his mind, unwilling in being shoveled up anytime soon.

Having Snape around wasn't helping his internal struggle. If anything, it was making things worse. Through the process of hating the man, he was able to gain some sense of normalcy. However, now that the two were beginning to grow rather docile during their encounters, Harry wondered if the world had truly turned upside-down because this was, if nothing else, totally _abnormal_.

Yet, a silver-lining was still visible when he'd received a package via Hedwig one night from Ron, who had claimed to have received an herbal remedy from his older brothers (Fred and George to be specific) that allowed dreamless sleep without the need of ingesting a potion. Intrigued by this and willing to try one of Fred and George's new inventions, Harry decided that he would put it to good use later that night. He stowed it in the drawer under his nightstand and went back downstairs.

"Don't think that I've forgotten about your Occlumency lessons," Snape had remarked sternly that same evening, Daily Prophet at hand as he reclined in the sitting room. He planned on taking full advantage of the days during which he wasn't being completely incapacitated under the influence of his illness. He still had tasks to accomplish, regardless of whether or not he was feeling up to meeting the demands.

Harry groaned from his spot by the fireplace where he was currently stationed, trying to work on some of the summer reading that he'd been assigned for school. He was careful to avoid even making eye contact with his Potions book, knowing that Snape would immediately lecture him on the importance of concepts that he would never be able to comprehend, no matter how hard he tried. Potions was simply impossible for him to wrap his head around; the same conclusion could be drawn from his Occlumency lessons.

"Why bother? Our lives would both be a load easier if we just lied to Dumbledore and told him I mastered it," he huffed toward his professor, sitting up and stretching out his limbs in the process.

"Lie to the headmaster? I think not, Potter," Snape immediately replied in his familiar, disapproving tone. "Perhaps, if you weren't so dimwitted, you would've already managed to accomplish the task on your own time. But no, that's expecting too much from you."

Harry glowered, bringing his Transfiguration book to a close. "Your constant insults aren't going to solve the problem."

"You'd think they would have penetrated your thick-skull by now, causing you to at least make an attempt at some improvement," Snape murmured, dropping his newspaper on the coffee table and standing up. He crossed the length of the room and rummaged through a dusty bookshelf in the back. "It seems that, as usual, you are a special case, Potter. I think a different method of teaching is in order."

Harry didn't like what the man was suggesting; unsure of whether or not this _alternative_ would be any less painful than the original method.

"I've been considering it for quite some time now. I think I may have finally found a solution that will prolong your attention span and teach you to follow instructions as soon as they are administered. Personally, I would've never thought that such a revolutionary idea existed," Snape went on mildly. "It's time to get you to work on mastering the wonderful skill of self-reflection."

Harry, with his back turned to Snape, swore under his breath, praying against all odds that his teacher was just being overdramatic in his description and narrative. He certainly didn't want to play any role in Snape's twisted ideas, especially not after they had made progress at acting civil toward one another.

"Follow me, Potter," Snape demanded, opening one of Sirius' old storage closets and brandishing his wand for a short moment.

Harry suspiciously did as he was told, standing up and abandoning his book to go and see what Snape was up to. He neared his professor and the closet hesitantly while his brain screamed for him to run upstairs and lock himself in his bedroom with multiple protection enchantments guarding his quarters. Against the temptations coursing through his mind, he stood by Snape's side, trying to snatch a peek at what his teacher had done to the closet.

But before he could get a clear look at the space, Snape had snapped the door shut once more. "Close your eyes," he commanded.

Harry blinked owlishly, a look of pure skepticism plastered bright-as- day across his face. "I'd prefer not to," he spoke, trying to keep his voice steady and confident as Snape's eyes burned through his own irises. He had a feeling that if he didn't do as he was told very quickly, he was going to suffer serious consequences. So, with a deep breath, he let his eyes fall shut, clammy hands resting by his sides.

He tried to persuade himself that he could trust Snape by this point. After all, the man had not tried to murder him yet, why would he bother doing it now?

Satisfied, Snape opened the closet once more and stepped inside, dragging Harry along with him. He ordered the teen to keep his eyes closed before casting a Silencing charm around the area.

"Hmm, it seems that you _can_ follow direction when you sacrifice a little effort, Potter. Now, there is just one, simple thing that I want you to accomplish. If and when you do as I say, I will allow you to continue wallowing in your mindless, adolescent activities," Snape promised in a firm voice, making sure Harry's eyes were still closed.

"And what is it that you exactly want me to do?" Harry growled through his teeth in frustration at having to listen to Snape like a disobedient puppy.

Snape scowled slightly, heading back toward the entrance of the closet, unbeknownst to Harry. "_Clear your mind._"

And with that, Harry heard the closet door smack shut with a _click_.

His eyes popped open, wide and confused as he took in his surroundings and realized that Snape had left him in the room alone. For the first time, he realized that Snape had transfigured the dusty, little closet into a large, dark room that had been stripped completely bare. The only light in the room was flickering from a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. With a sinking sense of discovery that was suffocating him, he rushed to the door, pounding on it with his fist upon realizing that it was locked.

"HEY! LET ME OUT!" he commanded, tugging on the doorknob frantically. Then, out of nowhere, the door vanished into thin air, leaving him in complete solitude with nothing to settle his high-strung nerves aside from the dim light source. "You call this a _revolutionary_ method?" he called out into the nothingness.

With a groan of disbelief, Harry plopped himself onto the floor and sprawled out, knowing that there was no use in wasting his energy by shouting. Knowing Snape's devious mind, he was probably going to be stuck here for a sizeable chunk of time. He may as well get comfortable with his environment.

_Clear your mind._

How on earth was that supposed to be possible while he was imprisoned in this fortified closet? The last thing he wanted to do was meditate! Sighing angrily, Harry made a check-list of reasons to hate Snape and how he could possibly get back at him in the future for pulling this torturous trick. After that, he considered what he would tell Dumbledore after this little adventure was over, and how he would avoid Snape at all costs once classes were back in session.

But after about half an hour of plotting revenge, Harry grew tired, wishing Snape would just let him out already. He flopped onto his back and stared at the light above him, allowing it to blind his eyes while he reminisced on his friends and the upcoming year of Hogwarts. He couldn't wait to be back in the familiar common room, looking for trouble with Ron and Hermione during late nights. He settled his arms behind his head and eventually gave up his daydreaming, seeing as it was becoming grueling.

Thus, he had no choice but to involuntarily clear his mind, eyes fatigued from looking at the light and mind feeling lethargic after fantasizing for an hour about the near future. He emptied the remainder of the contents in his train of thought, training himself to focus on one spot on the floor and listening to his own breathing. He would do this for short increments of time, eventually breaking away and thinking about other things after a few minutes. After the first five minutes, he interrupted himself by brooding over hunger and thirst. Therefore, he would restart the routine of deep concentration every time that he interjected himself.

Eventually, the time between each interruption grew more stretched. On his second try, he managed to go ten minutes without thinking about anything in particular. On the third try, he made it to twenty minutes. By his fourth and final try, he had made it to a whopping forty minutes without thinking about a _single _thing.

But now, he was hungry, thirsty, mentally exhausted, and drowsy. His frustration had dissolved along with his disbelief at having spent nearly two hours in the makeshift room.

Thankfully, the door materialized not five minutes after he was done with his mind-clearing session, already open and inviting him back into the real world. Not wasting a mere second, he rushed to the exit, relishing in the sight of the well-lit sitting room greeting him.

"Welcome back," said a smug voice from the side.

Harry snapped his head around and managed a wistful glare in his teacher's direction, shoulders slumped and sore from lying on the floor for two hours. "Your alternative method was locking me in the closet for two hours?" he exclaimed hoarsely, eyes still adjusting to the light.

Snape cocked an eyebrow in amusement, a pompous smirk toying on his face. "It was."

"You locked me in the closet!" Harry repeated accusingly, florid-faced.

"I did," Snape admitted, taking out his wand and restoring the closet back to its previous state as casually as humanly possible.

"You're completely mental!" Harry sputtered, throat dry and pleading for some replenishment.

Snape shrugged ever-so-slightly. "Perhaps… But you cleared your mind, didn't you?"

"I-I," the boy was at a loss of words, struggling to speak.

"I thought so," Snape stated complacently, sauntering into the kitchen.

"What… How… Why?" Harry frowned at his inability to make a sly comeback.

"Traditional methods never fail. I regret that it took me such a long amount of time to put them to good use," Snape added remorsefully as Harry trailed behind him into the kitchen like a lost child in a mall.

Thankfully, Harry's needs were met as Snape handed him a cup of tea and slid a porcelain plate accompanied by a sandwich down the kitchen table. He gobbled down the food immediately, relieved to finally be out of that wretched room. He had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he had finally accomplished the rigorous task of fully clearing his mind for prolonged amounts of time.

When Harry was halfway through his meal, Snape delivered his next instruction. "Go straight to bed after you're done."

Too tired to argue or to question the man's motives, Harry nodded as he finished his tea, feeling out-of-sorts after that terrible session of practicing self-control and the idea of his mind overpowering the wants of his body. Maybe—just maybe—Snape knew what he was doing after all. He supposed it was really for the best that he should go to bed early.

"It's astounding how docile you become after a few hours of utter isolation, Potter. What a reassuring improvement from your devastatingly poor performance last year," Snape commented mockingly before leaving Harry on his own once again.

Perhaps, that was the closest thing to a compliment that Harry was going to get for his efforts, though he didn't really mind. Proving to himself that he could center his thoughts had been self-validating in and of itself.

And with that, he sprawled out onto his bed, gaze directed at the moonlit sky grinning back at him. He felt the need to get up and begin to write some letters to his friends, rueful that he hadn't done so previously but decided against it due to his lack of proper concentration. Besides, he was still at a standstill as to what he should tell Ron and Hermione about his current living status. He could already picture their horrified expressions and overreactions.

Then, there was always the option of never telling them a single word. His "vacation" with Snape would be over in a little over a week anyway, so was there any reason to tell them? Truth be told, he didn't want to have to conceal anything from his closest friends, thinking it to be cowardly, but he supposed that, eventually, they would find out for themselves whether he was the one to inform them or not. After all, they were obviously already aware that he was in Grimmauld Place, seeing as Ron had been able to send him a package.

How he had survived almost two weeks with Snape, he would never know for sure, but it was certainly something that he wouldn't soon forget. July had come and almost gone without much of a warning, and seeing as Harry wasn't very intent on going back to the Dursleys for the remaining two weeks after he was to leave Snape, he supposed he would spend some time with the Weasleys (after he had explained the situation, of course).

But until then, he had some more time to endure in Snape's presence, which was his main concern at the moment. So, he decisively took the vial of herbal essences that Ron had sent him and rubbed the solution into his hands as the directions had stated before allowing himself to fall asleep, looking forward to riding out the rest of the summer so that he could get back to school as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>The sun had been impossibly bright when Harry had risen the next morning, rubbing his eyes and dragging himself out of bed to start his day. He changed out of his sleepwear before making his way to the kitchen for some breakfast, hoping there were still a few bags of tea left in the pantry.<p>

Surprisingly, Snape was already awake and perched at the kitchen table, his own mug of tea at hand. Even more stunningly, Harry discovered that another cup of tea had been prepared and set out for him, waiting by the seat he usually occupied each morning.

With a slightly forced and awkward half-smile, Harry thanked Snape and made himself his usual toast with marmalade before sitting down. Snape nodded from across the table, already consumed in another newspaper. Perhaps, Harry would sneak a peek at it later when the man wasn't looking to keep updated on what was going on in the Wizarding World.

"I suppose I'll have another Occlumency 'lesson' today, won't I?" Harry commented for the sake of light conversation, picking at his food and scratching at a spot around his eyes absentmindedly.

Finally casting his attention elsewhere, Snape lowered the newspaper and looked at Harry for the first time that morning, eyes apathetic for a few seconds before widening in astonishment.

Feeling self-conscious, Harry rubbed at his face again, wondering what on earth Snape was doing. "W-Why are you looking at me like that?"

Snape blinked slowly, trying to stay calm for Harry's sake as he examined his face from afar with bugged-eyes.

The teen made another move to touch his face but—

"Stop! Merlin's beard, don't rub it!" Snape barked before he could stop himself, reaching across the table and grabbing Harry's wrists.

"What are talking about?" the boy queried frantically, heart beginning to swell with fear.

Wordlessly, Snape stood from his seat and pulled Harry across the hall and up the stairs into his bedroom, ordering him to sit down before scouring cabinets and drawers full of various potions. Other than dishing out instructions, he said nothing else.

Feeling fed up, Harry rushed into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, only to discover that the upper part of his cheekbones and the lids of his eyes were bright red with an ugly, spotted rash. In some places, he had broken out into numerous, tiny boils. Upon closer inspection, he found that the palms of his hands were also rather red and stinging uncomfortably.

An irritated Snape came in behind him a few seconds later, carrying a few potions. "Don't. Touch. Anything," he warned, before turning on the water in the sink and ordering Harry to wash his hands thoroughly. Once that was done, the man took a clean washcloth and drenched half of it in a blue potion before pressing it firmly onto Harry's face.

"Agh! Damn it, that stings!" he howled, trying to pull away.

"Hold still," Snape growled under his breath, covering Harry's face with the blue concoction. A terrible, burning sensation pinched at his sensitive skin as the boils made contact with the liquid. "This is the second time that you've managed to self-inflict injury on yourself, Potter. What in the world did you put on your face?"

"Nothing! I didn't put anything on my face, I swear!" Harry argued, sighing with relief as Snape removed the cloth from his face. With his swift reflexes, the man snatched Harry's hands upward and turned them over with a groan of aggravation. "What did you put on your hands, for that matter?"

With a growing sense of dread, Harry sprinted off to his room and picked up the solution he'd received from Ron, trying to find some sort of warning label or side effects that may have been included in the note he had sent.

Eventually, Snape took the vial from him and opened it, sniffing its contents as he always did in these types of situations. "This is bubotuber pus, Potter. I've no idea from where you have obtained it, but I assume you were using it for its known healing properties. However, this hasn't been diluted enough, and will cause the formation of boils when in contact with skin."

"But I put it on my hands, not my face!" Harry explained himself, wondering if this was another prank that Fred and George had thought would be funny to play.

"Yes, but you've been rubbing your face," Snape noted, taking the solution and stowing it into his pocket. "Next time, don't be so daft as to try anything _experimental_. There is much information that still hasn't been discovered about this pus."

"I can't believe I put pus on my hands and face," Harry moaned in disgust, feeling awfully sorry for his poor face.

"The potion has already begun to remove the boils, but I'm afraid you'll be flaunting that lovely rash for another day or two before the redness goes down," Snape smirked in amusement. "Happy birthday," he added, finding this predicament extremely humorous.

"B-Birthday? It's my birthday?" Harry asked, wondering how he could have forgotten such an event. Time had really flown right before his eyes, and he had stopped keeping track of the days as of late.

"Indeed it is. Believe me; I would have completely ignored it had your friends not been sending letters and atrocious cards every two minutes. The Headmaster has been ever so _kind_ enough to redirect every letter that has been sent to you straight through the kitchen window," Snape glowered, reminiscing on how he had been pelted with at least two birthday cards before he had finally had the decency to close the window.

Feeling thoroughly downtrodden now, Harry sulked and collapsed onto his bed. "Well, happy, bloody birthday to me."

With a sardonic smile, Snape left the room, deciding to allow the boy to brood for a little while before ordering him to snap out of his depression.

His plan would have worked perfectly if, at that moment, the doorbell hadn't rung. With a long sigh, he recognized the man through the peep hole as Remus Lupin with a large gift at hand.

_Just his luck… _


	8. No Rest For The Wicked

**Author's Note: It's finally here. I'm so sorry for the wait.**

* * *

><p>"Remus Lupin, to what do I owe this displeasure?" Snape drawled inquisitively as he leaned against the doorway, feeling slightly run-down. He had thought that this potion would have begun to ease up by now. With a blasé air, his eyes wandered down to the present in Lupin's hands, scowling at the large bow resting at the center of the box.<p>

Lupin's eyes seemed to struggle to stay nonchalant and polite, mustering up the strength to keep up a friendly façade. "Good morning to you as well, Severus. I've come to deliver my birthday wishes to Harry, naturally."

"Yes, naturally," Snape replied, malcontent as usual. He swung the door open and swept over the foyer, refusing to invite Lupin inside verbally. He wouldn't leave him outside, but he also wouldn't want to give the man the impression that he had even the slightest desire to stand in his presence.

"So," Lupin began carefully, scrutinizing the familiar headquarters with a thoughtful expression. "Where is the dear, birthday boy?"

Snape grimaced, retrieving his abandoned Daily Prophet before settling in the nearest armchair in the sitting room once again. "No idea; probably fawning over his new make-over in his bedroom."

Lupin set down the gift on the coffee table and absently rubbed his shoulder. "Make-over?"

"Ah, yes. You see, his flawless stupidity rewarded him with a simply lovely complexion."

Lupin worriedly casted his eyes toward the staircase. "Is he alright?"

"Unfortunately…" Snape brooded, pretending to be completely absorbed in a particularly lengthy article. "It's quite a pity, really."

"I'd better check on him," Lupin murmured mostly to himself, retreating to the upper level of the house. He all but ran up each step, anxious as to whether or not Snape had intentionally injured Harry in any way. Dumbledore may have placed his sole trust in the man, but that didn't mean that he had to.

"Remus?" Harry peeked his head out of his room, dark hair and green eyes greeting Lupin with gusto. He half-heartedly rubbed a hand over his itchy face, but tried to refrain from causing too much friction against his skin lest it would make the rash worse. Besides, he didn't want to endure another round of Snape's unorthodox healing methods for a second time in the course of the same day.

"Harry! What in the world happened to you?" Lupin ogled the red blotches of skin in incredulity. "Two weeks with Severus and your face is covered in—Well, I'm not quite sure what that is… Is it some form of acne?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn but doubted that it was noticeable. "Erm… No, actually, this isn't Snape's fault, believe it or not. I _wish _Snape had done this. That way, I wouldn't have to feel so ridiculous about it all. It was one of Fred and George's ploys."

Lupin let out a slightly relieved sigh. "I see. Well, you should be more careful in the future. Regardless, that shouldn't stop you from celebrating your birthday! Dumbledore wanted to personally visit and send his best wishes, but as you can imagine, he's been extremely busy as of late. However, I'm sure that he'll be sending over a present shortly. There is one present already waiting to be opened downstairs."

Harry tried his best to grin brightly, hoping he was convincing enough. Personally, his birthday had already been an unforeseeable disaster. "Thank you, Remus."

"Of course! Turning sixteen is quite the milestone, isn't it? I remember when your mother turned sixteen. My, was she a shining beauty; James could barely take his eyes off of her, especially when Severus stopped trailing after her," Lupin recalled with pleasant nostalgia as he and Harry made their way for the stairs.

Harry suddenly froze in place, hand glued to the banister. He knew that Lily had come to Snape's defense after seeing his memory last term, but he had though that it had just been some awkward coincidence. He'd always viewed his mother as a kind-hearted woman, and after seeing someone being bullied, obviously she stepped in to the rescue. Yet, he'd never considered that the two of them were well-acquainted. With a shaky breath he asked, "Wait, Snape knew my mother?"

"Yes, indeed. Those two spoke quite often. It always befuddled James, who could never fathom their friendship. It's safe to say that he was jealous of any other student who spent time with your mother," Lupin explained calmly, clearly not seeing the absurdity encased in his words.

They reached the sitting room just then, walking in on Snape who was now scouring bookcases again. His mind always seemed to be lost in a book.

Not paying him any mind for the moment, Harry took hold of the colorful box on the table, haphazardly ripping off the shiny wrapping in curiosity. Pulling away the paper, he let it fall aside as he lifted the sleek, black suit pants and matching blazer. A pristine white shirt paired with a fancy scarlet tie was included in the package as well.

"Do you like it? I know it isn't much but—"

"It's fantastic, thank you. Though, it looks a bit expensive…"

"Oh, don't you worry about that!" Lupin assured, patting Harry's shoulder. "Being sixteen, I'm sure you'll want to attend each ball that Hogwarts has to offer. You'll manage to find yourself a wonderful young lady if you dress smart. James always outdid himself on his dates…"

Snape rolled his eyes, peevishly flicking through the pages of a leather-bound book that he'd found.

Remembering the previous discussion, Harry's stomach seemed to do a somersault and constrict painfully, making him feel extremely sick. He didn't understand why he was suddenly feeling so tense and frustrated. His eyes went from Lupin to Snape for a few times before he dared to speak again.

"I… I'm sorry, Remus. I forgot to tell you that I didn't feel well this morning either. I think I've caught a bug or something, so I'm not up for any festivities," Harry lied coolly, his heart clobbering beneath his ribs. "Maybe we can save the celebration for another day?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Harry," Lupin responded soothingly, brushing a hand over Harry's head to check for a fever. "You might be a tad on the warm side. Perhaps I should stay and help?"

"No, no, I'm fine, really. I'm sure I can just sleep it off. Thank you for the gift once more."

"There's no need to thank me," Lupin assured, patting Harry's shoulder and embracing him for a short moment before preparing to depart. He casted a cautious, side-glance toward Snape, skeptical of the man's intentions. "I'll leave you to rest. If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me, alright? Happy birthday, Harry."

Harry nodded and saw Lupin on his way out, shutting the door behind him after waving goodbye. When he was sure Lupin was gone and wasn't coming back anytime soon, he advanced back over to Snape and tore the book that he was holding out of the man's hands in uncontainable fury.

"You were friends with my mum?" he bristled, trying to cease from shouting and losing his temper, seeing as that wasn't going to make any progress in addressing the issue.

Snape was about to scold Harry for being so rude, but stopped himself and resolved on merely looking stern. "Lupin told you that?"

"Maybe he did; what does it matter? What _does_ matter is that you were friends with my mum and then turned against her! You worked on the side of Voldemort! You really _are_ the reason she's dead! How could you do that to a _friend_?"

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name, and you should not be sticking your nose in places where it doesn't belong. None of this is your concern," Snape backfired firmly, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this mess. Potter had gone too deep. He knew that he was getting too close to the boy; it was bound to spell trouble in the long-run. He shouldn't have listened to Dumbledore. The old man had made a huge mistake this time.

"Not my concern! This is _my_ mum we're talking about and she's dead! She's dead just like Dad and Sirius because of people like _you_!" Harry emphasized, chiding himself for not having his wand on hand. He didn't care if using magic outside of school was forbidden; Snape was going to pay for betraying his mother.

"You don't underst—"

"Don't tell me that I don't understand! I completely understand! I understand that you're a bastardly git who caused my mother's death and never bothered to even mention it. Instead, you made my life a living hell at school!" Harry griped, taking the book and throwing it squarely at Snape's face.

The man caught the hurtling object, stunned by the show of violence. Harry wasn't normally one to want to cause physical harm onto others. He had always wanted to paint the boy as some demon child who had come to haunt him for his past mistakes, but his good heart was undeniable at times, even though it was a painful revelation that had rendered in Snape's mind over the years.

Casting all hatred aside, Snape tossed the book aside and gripped Harry's wrists holding him still for a moment.

"You need to calm yourself. Control your emotions," he urged the teen, shaking him slightly in his own frustration. "Throwing a tantrum now isn't going to solve anything, I assure you."

Harry continued his unabated rage, thrashing out of Snape's grip and falling to his knees with a moan of both grief and protest. All of the dark emotions he had repressed seemed to come leaking out of him at once, awakening the sleeping beast that had resided at the bottom of his soul.

Snape wordlessly watched the boy sob and groan through hitching breaths, remembering a time when he too had felt so hopelessly lost and confused, sitting on the cold, wooden floors of his house as he anguished over the cruelty of unrequited love. He'd been a flimsy teen when he had brushed off his pants and gathered his bravery around him to climb up the side of the tree that was outside of Lily's house. He could still remember the fronts of his too-large shoes biting into the knots on the tree bark as he traversed his way through the leaves and branches. By the time he'd made it up high enough, he was panting.

_He'd leaned over one of the bulky branches and knocked on the young girl's window, demanding her attention._

_There'd been many occasions when he had tried to win back her friendship and trust, but that summer night in the oak tree had been the closest he'd ever come to success. Lily had trotted over to her window, oblivious to the identity of the intruder until she had come face to face with him. At first, she'd simply closed the curtains, obscuring him from her field of view. _

"_Wait! Please, hear me out just for a minute!" _

_Not wanting to wake her parents in the middle of the night, or worse her sister, Petunia, Lily reluctantly pulled the curtains apart again. She cracked the window open in an exasperated manner, almond eyes as beautiful as ever. _

"_I don't want to hear another one of your empty apologies." _

_Biting his lip, he cleared his throat and prepared to speak, but never got the chance._

"_Didn't you just hear what I said? Leave before you wake my parents!"_

_With that, Lily moved to close the window again, but Snape, being ludicrously foolhardy, stuck his hand under the screen of the window, getting his fingers smashed in the process._

_Lily's eyes had widened, clearly bewildered as she hastily opened the window again, only to witness Snape yelping over the broken fingers and losing his footing in the tree. He had skidded his way off of the branch that he'd been resting his weight on, trying to save himself by flailing a hand around to grab onto something. _

"_Severus!" _

_He almost smiled at hearing Lily pronounce his name again, trying to ignore the immense pain that ran down his spine as his back collided with the grassy ground. His vision blurred as Lily came running out of the house and over to his side, grasping him by the shoulders and shaking him lightly. _

"_Severus, say something!" _

_Snape had merely groaned, pain flitting throughout his entire figure. He watched listlessly as Lily leaned closer to his face, trying to decipher whether he was coherent or not._

_With a deep frown, Lily squeezed her eyes shut and shed a tear, red-hair blazing in the moonlight. She took Snape's hand in her own and embraced it for a minute before speaking._

"_I'm sorry too, Sev. I ought to have treated you more kindly, but we can't be friends anymore. It'll give both of us a hard time. It's best if you just stay away."_

_Snape swallowed heavily, pushing himself up into a sitting position. In a flurry of movement, he was entangled in Lily's arms and taking part in a tight hug. He was rather surprised that he hadn't seized in her arms out of sheer bewilderment. When she pulled away, she prepared herself to wake her parents and call for help when Snape stopped her._

"_It's alright. I'll be fine."_

"_Don't be ridiculous! You need to go to the hospital to make sure you haven't broken any bones."_

"_I've been through worse. It's fine, Lily."_

"_Promise you'll be okay?"_

_Snape nodded fervently, berating himself for allowing his eyes to sting with heavy emotion. He was still a terrible liar at the time. After being helped into a standing position and at least being offered some ice for his hand, the pair of teenagers met each other's eyes once more before going their separate ways. _

_That had been his last attempt at reconciliation._

"Snape?" Harry queried, shaking Snape out of his memories. He had calmed down considerably, though his eyes were still red and accusing.

Snape straightened himself up, eyes stowing all emotion, just as he had trained himself to do. "Yes, what is it that you want to say, Potter?"

Harry clenched his fist, eyes meeting the floor. "Tell me what happened. I want to know what went on with you and my mum."

"There isn't much to say," Snape lied apathetically. In reality, keeping the story locked within him had been killing him for years. He'd just been waiting for someone to make that precise request of him, but he hadn't wanted nor expected it to be Harry himself. "Your mother and I were fellow classmates. That was all. We grew up and lost touch…"

Harry didn't seem to be buying the tale, but he nodded anyway before retreating to his room and slamming the door shut.

For a split second, Snape wondered if he should go up there and say more, but as quick as the temptation had come, it fluttered away. He breathed a sigh.

He was going to need a lot of tea to wash down this mess.

* * *

><p>He needed something—anything to help him get his mind off of things for a while.<p>

In his house, it was rather easy. He'd turn on the muggle television that he had stashed in his room (which he had acquired to provide himself with a sense of normalcy), and would change the channel to some dull documentary on the making of chocolate before washing some dishes by hand. He'd toy with some potions, work on his lesson plans for the beginning of the new term or simply read.

Reading was always the quickest and most painless distraction, but only if the book was of the right genre. He'd never pick up a work of fiction, but would opt for some very logical and mathematical explanation of why flax seeds had to be stored at a certain temperature.

These simple, thoughtless tasks kept him going, especially during the summer when he had so much time to himself.

But now, being at Grimmauld Place, there was literally nothing else for Snape to distract himself with. He'd shredded through every page of every book in the entire headquarters. And now, he couldn't conjure a television or start cleaning the entire house or Potter would think he was deranged.

Thus, he'd taken to wandering back and forth around the house, brewing cups of tea at every opportunity. Yet, he had to admit that after twelve cups of the hot beverage, even the thought of pouring himself another refill was making him ill.

So, he took to being alone with his thoughts after all, sulking in the melancholy of the house now that Potter had locked himself in his bedroom for the time being.

His eyes soon fell to the discarded wrappings of Lupin's present, which sent his train of thought spiraling toward the subject of Harry once more.

He hadn't gotten the boy a present for obvious reasons. Snape just wasn't the gift-giving type of person, and it's not like Harry expected anything from him anyway. He merely didn't bother, but now he was regretting that decision.

In all honesty, he wouldn't go as far as to say that he _liked _Potter, but he certainly had a newfound respect for him. Still, it was very foreign to Snape when he felt his heart sink a millimeter when Harry's disappointed figure had disappeared after their one-sided argument. He didn't want the teenager to wish he were dead for the time that they had left together.

And maybe this predicament wouldn't have been so annoying had Snape not known exactly how to fix it.

He knew the one thing that he could do to win Harry's trust and respect, but he shouldn't even have considered the option of doing it. Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have cared if Harry wanted him dead, but now…

Well, now, the circumstances were very different.

It was now or never.

Snape wished he had chosen never.

He stood up on heavy limbs, completing the walk of shame from the kitchen to his bedroom before fishing through some cardboard boxes that he had stored underneath the bed. He retrieved a single item before kicking the box away in disgust, sweat piling on his forehead as he clenched the item in his hand. Heart speeding up and head pounding from processing a million thoughts at once, he staggered the length to Harry's room, knocking firmly on the locked door.

"Potter? Let me in."

"I'm a bit preoccupied…"

"Cheeky brat. Open this door and don't make me say it again! Or I'll… I'll," Snape suddenly wheezed, stunning himself for a moment as he used his free hand to grip the front of his shirt. "I-I'll blast it down with magic!"

Not receiving an answer or hearing any movement from within, Snape jiggled the doorknob, still holding onto the item for Harry in his other hand like a life-line as he did so.

Snape coughed roughly, cursing his lungs as he beat his fist on the door again. "Potter, you have to… Bloody hell…" He gasped for more air to continue, but found that his lungs were refusing to function properly.

Finally, Snape heard Harry stand up and fiddle with the lock, allowing him inside. He pushed the door open and met the boy's green eyes, heart aching horribly as they peered at him in scrutiny.

_God, he just wanted her back._

"Yes, what is it?"

"P-Potter," Snape rasped, holding out his arm and presenting the item to Harry.

Eyebrows set in a furrow, Harry took the photograph out of Snape's hand, glimpsing at it quizzically before he felt his own breath catch in his throat.

It was his mother, laughing and smiling, and looking absolutely beautiful with the sun wrapped around her like a golden cloak.

The picture trembled in Harry's hand. "I d-don't understand…"

Snape could feel his senses fading as oxygen continued to fail to reach his lungs. The onslaught of illness had come so quickly and powerfully that he hadn't foreseen it.

He tried to hold on to consciousness, unsure of whether or not he'd be able to muster his courage again like this in the future. He wanted to tell Harry everything now. He wanted to explain what a horrible person he was, but also how guilt-stricken he was as well. He was grieving just as much as Harry, if not more, on some days.

He had loved with a love so pure, so strong, and so disgustingly greedy… He needed Lily. She was the only one for him. She had always been the only one for him. If he had only tried harder, begged further, found a way to make it up to her…

"Snape? Are you—What's wrong?"

Snape struggled to speak, airways strained as he lowered himself to the floor in exhaustion. "D-Don't put me next to L-Lockhart."

"Wh—Snape? Snape! Get up!"

Snape groaned. "Pot—_Harry_."

Harry jumped in his own skin, recoiling away from Snape in alarm. The man never addressed him by his first name.

"I'm going to call for help."

Snape gripped the front of Harry's shirt, shaking his head. "D-Don't have to…"

"What are you talking about? Of course I have to! Don't tell me you've gone mad from delirium again," Harry hastily exclaimed, leaving Snape's side momentarily to run to the fireplace.

The boy was supposed to hate him and let him asphyxiate to death, not call for help!

_Damn, Gryffindor nobility._

"Don't move, you stubborn, old goat!" he heard Harry call from a short distance away.

Darkness swam into Snape's vision and then, his mind was at peace once more.


	9. Surrendering Secrets

"_Try and catch me if you can!"_

_Coming home for the holidays had been worth it when it had been spent in pleasant company._

_A bubble of lovely laughter floated into the air, sending shivers down Snape's spine and making his stomach uneasy. His heavy legs dragged him up the hillside obligingly, trailing after the red-headed girl who had obtained a rather impressive lead. _

_He'd never imagined that a girl could move so fast. _

"_Lily! Mum said to come inside for dinner!" _

_The reprimanding voice caught both of them off guard, sending them to a screeching halt in their little escapade. Lily's rosy face came into view once more as she turned around and travelled toward her sister, Petunia, panting slightly through parted lips. Her almond shaped eyes regarded Petunia coolly, trying to come off as friendly and unthreatening. _

"_Sure, Petunia. Tell Mum I'll be there in a minute. I have to say goodbye to Sev."_

_The pet name made Snape's stomach perform a proper somersault this time, eyes roving over to Petunia and giving her a displeased glare for cutting their fun short. It seemed that his days with Lily had been significantly reduced recently, leaving him with a burning desire to be around the girl at every offered opportunity. _

_Petunia merely rolled her eyes cholericly. "Fine, but I don't get why you'd want to waste your time with the likes of him anyway."_

_Snape jumped at the scathing comment immediately, sputtering angrily and storming over to Petunia with his wand raised aggressively. "The same could be said for you. It's no wonder you haven't got any friends. Still want to be a witch?" _

_Petunia narrowed her eyes in a set glower, knocking the wand out of Snape's hand with a powerful swat. "I'm not afraid of you." _

"_You should be," Snape countered rapidly, catching his wand before it could hit the grass. He started to mouth an incantation vengefully._

"_Stop it! Both of you!" Lily groaned, stepping in. "Can't you all just try to get along? I told you not to take out your wand at Petunia after what happened last time, Sev! Don't you listen to anything I say?"_

_Snape fumbled with the words in his throat, flustered at seeing Lily so irritated. "Of course I do, but it's not my fault that—"_

"_For the millionth time, she's my sister! No matter what you say, I'll still be by her side. Don't you understand?"_

_Snape stowed his wand, eyes focused on a nearby tree so that he wouldn't have to look at those furious green gems. "No, I don't. Just like I don't understand why you're always hanging around that Potter kid when we're at school."_

"_Are you still going on about that? I told you that there's nothing going on between the two of us!" _

"_Then why have you been sending him so many letters over the break?"_

_Lily's eyes widened as she brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. "You were snooping around my desk again, weren't you?"_

_Snape shamefully lowered his eyes, wringing his worn scarf warily. "Yes, but it was because I didn't want you to get hurt. James Potter is a complete and utter tosser."_

_Lily clenched her teeth, shaking her head softly. "I don't need you to tell me what to do or to protect me from anything. I'm able to take care of myself and talk to whomever I like."_

"_But why would you want to talk to him of all people?"_

_Petunia furrowed her eyebrows, completely lost as to what was going on. With a frustrated scowl, she set off to the house, adjusting her winter hat as she went. "I'm not saving you any hot cocoa, Lily!"_

_Lily simply waved at her sister dismissively, attention directed at Snape. "I don't think it's any of your concern who I want to talk to. Just because we're best friends doesn't mean that I can't talk to anyone else."_

"_I know that but…" Snape's sentence hung unfinished in the air as he berated himself for not being more sympathetic. What was he supposed to tell her? That she wasn't allowed to spend time with others because he wanted her for himself? She'd leave in the blink of an eye! It was, however, the truth. He greedily wanted her all for himself. If he couldn't have her, then no one else had the right to sweep her away. _

_Lily sighed, giving Snape a thoughtful look. "You can be really cruel at times."_

_Snape gave an affronted scowl before stowing his wand. "I'm just trying to make you see that—never mind," he muttered, looking a bit pained. He'd tried to confess his love to Lily before, but could never muster up the courage to say exactly what was on his mind. He didn't want to destroy their established friendship together by making the situation awkward and uncomfortable, but his silent yearning for her was torture in and of itself. Every little thing she did sent his thoughts reeling and his nerves tingling. The worst part—by far—was the ever lingering knowledge that Lily might fall in love with Potter. He wasn't daft; he could see the way she looked at him. It was a look of admiration and longing with which she never granted Snape the privilege of being on the receiving end. She would never be his, and that was that. The truth stung, but he knew he couldn't deny it._

_Yet, his heart remained in pure and merciless agony. _

_That was the horrible thing about unrequited love—it never knew when to surrender. Each day, the thought of Lily would be etched into his mind in a constant cycle of repetition. He picked through every moment spent with her, wondering where he might have gone wrong, and how to prevent making a fool out of himself in future encounters. He'd lie on his bedroom floor, scowling at the ceiling before the cycle of self-deprecation would begin. Some days were easier to get through than others. He could concentrate on other subjects such as Potions and the Dark Arts, but they could only distract him for so long. _

_It was the worst feeling in the world—to love someone so deeply without even a hint of affection in return. Likewise, it was difficult to properly describe the severity of the seemingly everlasting ache buried in the cavity of his chest, making him feel as though he'd tried to swallow a bludger. He'd try to assure himself that a love interest was holding him back from his studies, but it was always a futile effort because a moment later, he'd be immersed in the despair of imagining a world without Lily. _

"_Well, I should probably get inside before Petunia throws a fit again."_

_Snape frowned, throat constricting every time he was forced to part ways with the girl. "Alright, see you tomorrow?"_

"_I'm sure Mum won't mind if you stay for dinner. That is, if you want to stay," Lily said invitingly._

_Snape was tempted to decline the offer for the sheer purpose of sparing himself another torturous hour of misery in the company of unreturned love. However, one look at Lily's green eyes and gentle smile made him feel like his stomach was somersaulting again. _

"_Of course I want to stay."_

_Sometimes he wished he had the bleeding heart of a Gryffindor._

* * *

><p>Who was the perpetrator behind that terribly obnoxious beeping noise? He was going to smash the blighter's head into a wall with a flick of his wand as soon as he could grasp hold of enough energy to open his eyes.<p>

"Snape?"

He blinked and rubbed a cold hand over his haggard face. The first thing his dark eyes laid sight on, were those green lenses. It was always those pair of doe-like orbs that drove him over the edge and haunted him on a daily basis. Perhaps he could sneak a potion into Potter's drink that would finally alter the color of his eyes for at least a little while—if only to spare him from a moment of distress.

He managed to gain the ability to speak again. "Potter?"

He couldn't exactly remember how he had ended up in a dingy cot, bright lights digging into his corneas and making the dryness that had settled there even more irritating. Potter seemed to struggle with the words on his tongue for a moment, opening his mouth and closing it multiple times before just deciding to stay silent.

"Cat got your tongue, Potter?" Snape sneered, grimacing in pain as he tried to lift himself up into a sitting position.

Surprising them both, Harry clenched his eyes shut and let his breath catch in his throat, shaking slightly in the cold air of the hospital room. He shook his head and let out a pitiful chuckle, a hand reaching under his glasses to wipe away the moisture that had settled there.

"You're... You… You barmy prat!" Harry breathed, absolutely fuming on the inside but trying to keep his composure for the sake of the bedridden man. "How many times are you going to collapse before you learn to take care of your damned health? You've keeled over twice now, and I've almost had two heart attacks as a result. No offense, but I don't appreciate you trying to die at my feet every other day. And then, you have the conceit to insist that I don't call for help? I don't care who it is; I'm not going to stand back and watch them die in front of me."

"Ah, if I recall correctly, you swore that the next time I 'dropped to the floor', you'd leave me there for Dumbledore to collect. How like you to not be a man of your word."

"That would've been the easier solution, no doubt," Harry murmured plaintively.

Snape's muddled mind caught the underlying concern in Harry's tone, bringing an amused smirk to his face as he watched the teenager scold his least favorite professor at Hogwarts like a lecturing parent. "There's no need to be so distraught, Potter. I assure you that I will return to Hogwarts this upcoming term to make you as miserable as ever. Perhaps, you'll even break your record amount of detentions with me. So, you see, there's still much to look forward to."

"Belt up," Harry ordered roughly, eyes scathing and still tinged with mild spots of red. "You have no right to be mocking me after I saved your arse. You can repay me by telling me what this picture you gave me is all about. I know that there's something you aren't telling me about my mother."

Snape heaved a sigh. So, it hadn't just been all a bad dream, after all. He had actually walked into the boy's bedroom and presented him with one of his most treasured mementos.

Lovely…

Harry's face hardened as he stood at the foot of the bed, towering over Snape. In fact, it was rather ironic how quickly their roles had been reversed. "I'm waiting," the boy urged, holding up the offending picture.

"Well," Snape began slowly, clearing his throat. He had every right to tell the cheeky brat to let him be and stop pestering him, but he had to finish what he had started. "Your mother and I were… close friends, so to speak."

Harry leaned against the edge of the cot, dropping the picture into Snape's lap. "I gathered that much."

"Long story short, I said something that I deeply regret and severed our friendship," he murmured, brushing the rest of the anecdote aside. He hoped to bury the past, but it refused to be entombed.

"What did you say?" Harry demanded, growing obstinate in his goal to wring out some answers.

Snape shut his eyes, bringing himself back to the terrible moment that he wished he could've undone. Either way, it didn't matter, seeing as his friendship with Lily would've ended sooner or later considering that he couldn't suppress his emotions for her.

"As you know, your mother's parents were muggle-born."

"You didn't…" Harry ran a hand through his matted hair, already predicting where this story was going.

Snape kept his eyes closed, unable to look at Harry any longer. "Unfortunately, I did. I called her a Mudblood. I immediately regretted it after I'd said it, but your mother, being that she had forgiven my previous slip-ups, had decided that she'd had enough. We didn't speak to each other much after that day. I apologized multiple times, but obviously it was too late."

Harry moved across the room to sit in the plastic chair by the bedside, unable to process what he was hearing. How was it possible that one of the people he disliked the most had been friends with his mother? He knew what question he had to ask next, but he was rather afraid of what the answer might hold.

"Were you two ever more than friends?"

"No. What an idiotic assumption of you to even—"

Harry dug his nails into his palms. "I want the truth," he interrupted. "You owe it to me to tell me exactly what happened."

"You're sorely mistaken; I am not and never will be in debt to you, Potter. If anyone holds any amount of debt, it is you. I have paid my dues," Snape responded coldly, growing very serious.

"What are you talking about? You work for Voldemort! You are still the reason my parents are dead! You're a coward who takes out his anger on me just because my father used to bully you in school and my mother stopped being friends with you. It's pathetic!"

Snape bolted upright in bed, snatching Harry by the collar of the shirt and drawing him dangerously close with a murderous look in his eyes. "How dare you?" he snapped, suddenly losing any previously held self-control. The mask had disintegrated, and the following words that flowed out of his mouth set themselves free of their own accord. "I have risked my neck for you countless times, Potter. I've kept your hide safe all of these damned years. Or have you already forgotten how I kept Quirrell from sending you to an early grave by keeping him from plowing you into the earth during your ruddy Quidditch match? Or this year, when I kept Umbridge from pouring Veritaserum down your throat? Not to mention that I informed the Order of Black's supposed capture and how you were bound to head for the Department of Mysteries to play the role of hero—quite stupidly, might I add—once more. You fell right into the Dark Lord's trap. I had tried to search for you in the Forbidden Forest, but you'd already whisked away on your journey. Fortunately, it seems that you have learned something in the course of our Occlumency lessons, seeing as the Dark Lord failed to possess you after you drove him out of your thoughts."

Harry felt a small pang of guilt, but refused to acknowledge it. Obviously, Snape was not a good person. He was bitter, cynical old man, and a bully. He took pleasure in the failures of others. He loved making his students suffer in his class.

But he also wasn't completely heartless.

Harry suddenly remembered their recent time spent together at Grimmauld Place. Snape had kept him from harming himself while grieving over the loss of Sirius that one night. He'd treated the boils and rash that he'd contracted from that bubotuber pus. He'd come looking for him out in the rain to make sure he hadn't done anything reckless.

He wasn't as stone-cold as he appeared to be.

"And to think," Snape continued feverishly, "that after all of my efforts—after pledging my allegiance to Dumbledore and working alongside the Order—you still have the impudence to claim that I am indebted to you is, quite frankly, astonishing. And you want to know something, Potter? I despise you. You look so much like your ruddy father, but you had to have _her _eyes. You just have to look at me with that same expression of concern that she once possessed. I would've given my life to save her, but she had already sacrificed herself for your protection. So, I swore to Dumbledore that I would help keep you safe from the Dark Lord, if only to keep Lily's death from being in vain. Of course, he never told you this because he was sworn to secrecy. I knew you'd find out eventually that I'd had a one-sided platonic relationship with your mother for many years, but I had hoped that I'd get to carry my motives to the grave with me."

Harry's head felt like it was about to explode. He wanted to convince himself that all of Snape's ranting was just an elaborate lie, but there was such conviction in the man's tone that Harry inwardly knew that the words were genuine. "So that's why Dumbledore trusts you so unconditionally because you…loved my mother?"

The word felt so foreign leaving his mouth. Love? How could any person such as Snape ever be capable of loving someone?

Snape simmered down, closing his eyes once more and nodding his head curtly for a brief moment. "It's best if you leave, Potter. Dumbledore is undoubtedly on his way, and he'll want to speak to you. Then, you'll have to be sent back to your aunt and uncle's house until he can find out where to locate you until the beginning of term."

Harry retreated to the doorway of the little hospital room, unable to separate the cluster of emotions he was feeling. He knew that he should leave Snape alone for a while, at least until Dumbledore got the chance to talk with him. Thus, he turned the doorknob reluctantly and steppe out, deciding to loiter in the waiting room.

* * *

><p>"Happy Birthday, Harry."<p>

Harry sat up in flimsy chair that he had clumsily slumped into nearly an hour previously, vision fuzzy as he recovered from the sleepiness that had taken over his body and sent him into a half-dozing state. He lifted his head slowly and acknowledged the visitor, still dazed. "Sir?"

Dumbledore smiled brightly, adjusting his spectacles as he took a seat beside Harry, eyes thoughtful. "I must properly thank you for aiding our Potion's Master. Between you and me, he isn't as much of a grouch as he wishes to be perceived as. I'm sure he appreciates your help, though he may not voice it openly."

Harry fidgeted in his seat. "It was nothing, really."

"I also apologize for the interruption in your birthday celebrations."

Harry shook his head, lightly rubbing the rash that was still inhabiting his complexion. "There's no need to apologize. I should've expected things to go downhill after this morning's encounter with bubotuber pus. I'm happy to have been able to be of use, at least."

"Regardless, there's still time for you to indulge in some birthday cake. The night is still young," Dumbledore informed cheerfully, summoning a small piece of vanilla cake with a candle burrowed at the top. "Don't forget to make a wish."

Harry smiled wanly, thanking the elder man as he hoped for happiness in the days to come before blowing out the candle with a large puff of air. A quick glance at his watch confirmed his suspicions that it was now early evening, meaning that this birthday didn't have to be a complete disaster, after all. Besides, he'd had plenty of birthdays that had been far worse than this. Granted, he'd never had spent one in the hospital before.

"Do you think he'll be alright, sir?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, looking as amused as ever. "Severus? Oh, certainly. I highly doubt anything short of a Dementor's Kiss could render him too ill to recover. The curse in the potion is likely to have almost completely left his system by this point. He'll be back to organizing his lesson plans in a few days' time."

Harry grinned, taking a bite out of the sweet frosting of the cake. "He probably can't wait to terrorize some more first years with pop quizzes on their summer reading assignments for Potions. They'll have no idea what hit them."

"Actually, it has been decided that Professor Snape will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this upcoming term," Dumbledore said nonchalantly, surveying the bustling staff of the hospital.

Harry nearly choked on the cake, eyes widening as forcibly swallowed to clear his throat. "Really? Well… I heard he's wanted that job for a really long time."

"Has he?" Dumbledore remarked, pretending to be oblivious. "In that case, I'm sure there's much that you can learn from him this term, and it'd be best if you applied yourself accordingly."

Harry suppressed a frown. Snape's classes were complete torture, but he supposed that he'd be able to manage an average grade in Defense Against the Dark Arts no matter who was teaching it. Potions, on the other hand, had never been his strong suit.

"Well, Harry, I'd better check in on our professor and find out when he'll be released from St. Mungo's care. After that, we'll have to send you someplace safe, seeing as Severus will no longer be able to provide any security at the current time," Dumbledore stated, rising to leave.

Unexpectedly, Harry felt a bit of sadness rise up in his chest. "Sir, with all due respect, I'm sure that Snape and I could stay out of harm's way for the next few days until everything goes back to normal. There's no need to move me elsewhere."

Dumbledore stopped in his tracks, giving the birthday boy a long, calculating look. Perhaps, the teen's words would've held more merit if his face wasn't so red and splotchy from the rash. Looking into his eyes, Dumbledore could see the new fondness that had settled there. It looked as though someone didn't despise their Potion's teacher as much as they claimed.

"Very well, Harry," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Though I may have some fellow Order members stop by every once in a while to make sure all is in order. We'll discuss it further in a moment."

Harry felt his face grow warm, second guessing his decision as swiftly as he'd made it. Why would he ever want to spend extra time unnecessarily with Snape? Maybe he was the one who was growing ill now.

Well, if his mother had been friends with him, he couldn't be all that bad.

Harry sighed, slightly comforted by the fact that there was still someone besides Lupin and Dumbledore that had personally known his parents.

And he was positive that Lily would've wanted him to at least give Snape a chance, especially after all that he had done for him.

So, that git had better not almost die on him ever again.


	10. Know Your Enemies

**Author's Note: This series will shortly be coming to its end. There may be a sequel if there's a high demand for one, but only time will tell. x) Thank you all for reading, following and reviewing this story. **

* * *

><p>"This is absurd, Albus," Snape began as Dumbledore occupied the seat by his bedside. The blue eyes bore into his, oddly amused by the sudden turn of events. "There is obviously no longer a need for me to reside with the boy any longer. It's due time that he be sent back to his aunt and uncle's," the Potions master urged, though some repugnant little voice in the corner of his mind had the nerve to question his intentions.<p>

Dumbledore smiled softly, gaze settled on the window across the room as he mused over the circumstances. A light drizzle of rain had begun to fall. "It is quite the opposite, in fact. It has become crucial for you to continue to remain at Grimmauld Place with Harry."

"And what, pray tell, led you to make such an astute observation?" Snape grumbled darkly, a headache throbbing behind his temple. "I can assure you that I am in no mood to fend off any 'dark forces' at the present moment."

Smile never faltering, Dumbledore went on, Snape's cold and cynical words not hindering his gleeful revelation in the least. "No, I'm pleased to announce that any previous threat has been squandered. However, we still have a few visitors lingering about Privet Drive, questioning the whereabouts of Harry. I suppose it wouldn't do much damage to allow them to puzzle over the thought for a little while longer."

Snape allowed himself a moment of relief, priding himself on managing to properly obscure Potter from any curious beings working for the Dark Lord. "Then for what other reason do you wish to have him remain with me? If you want to continue this little game of hide-and-seek that you've started, why not send him to one of the other members of the Order? Lupin would gladly take him in, I'm sure."

"Yes, naturally, that would be a favorable option. However, it seems that there is a minor obstacle standing in our way—one of which I'm certain that you had not foreseen."

Snape frowned, searching through the carefully organized memories in his mind for somewhere where he might have slipped-up or overlooked an important detail. Coming up short, he sent Dumbledore a long look. "And what might that be?"

"The boy has taken a liking to you," Dumbledore finally revealed with an even brighter smile than the former one, "though I fear that he may never relay such information to you."

Snape blinked slowly and brought a hand to his forehead, feeling for the fever that was surely making him delirious. Any minute now he would wake up in the empty hospital room, accompanied only by the occasional fruit fly.

"You're mistaken," he managed to mutter gruffly, insulted that Dumbledore would even suggest such an improbable thing. "You mistake contempt for some sort of ill-disposed admiration."

"Have you ever though to consider that perhaps you are the one who is mistaken?"

Snape scowled, eyes hard and cold. How was he supposed to respond to _that_? Why was the man always so sure of himself? Had he been in his right-mind, there would have been no way that he could handle being in the presence of Potter unnecessarily. This illness plaguing him had just triggered this sudden weakness, blinding him from rational thought. Surely, that was all there was to it.

"The only question that remains now is whether or not you agree to continue to accompany the boy until the beginning of the school year," Dumbledore informed, casually standing up and walking over to the window in deep thought.

Snape closed his eyes tightly, deciding that this entire situation was more trouble than it was worth. "Even if I wasn't completely mental at the moment, you and I both know that such a thing would be dangerous. What if one of our 'friends' were to witness my actions?"

Dumbledore shook his head, arms folded as he observed the falling rain. "No, I don't think that would be an issue that we would have to concern ourselves with. Since you'll both be remaining at Grimmauld Place, no one should have the opportunity to accomplish such spying. That being said, if both you and Harry suddenly appear nowhere to be found, some suspicion would be raised. You'll have to take certain precautions such as visiting Spinner's End every once in a while, just to make the house seem as though it is in use. For all anyone knows, you could be working on a project for Voldemort or simply busy with preparing for the start of term. It would be in your best interest to stop by Diagon Alley in the upcoming days just to feed any peaking interests."

"The fact still remains that Potter would be better off with another auror,"Snape said indifferently before Dumbledore could go any further.

Turning away from the window and catching Snape's gaze, Dumbledore offered the man a shrewd expression. "Give the boy a chance; he may surprise you."

Snape couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Potter _really _should've left him choking on the floor.

* * *

><p>Now that he had a little more perspective on the matter, Snape had to admit that life had been a whole lot easier when he'd kept his distance from Harry Potter, subjecting himself to hating the boy every minute of every day without thinking otherwise. Being around the boy was bringing back stale memories and unstitching age-old wounds that he'd once carefully threaded shut.<p>

Staring at the green eyes that were scanning the newspaper in front of them, he felt that same ache in his chest from many years ago. Chills ran down his spine as he pictured Lily and recalled how he had loved her so. Even now, the mere thought of her fearlessly exuberant spirit and love for life itself brought him anguish and peace all at the same time. He would never love another woman as strongly and deeply as he had loved Lily, but staring into those pair of green eyes brought him a mix of regret and tranquility all over again.

"What? Why are you gawking at me that way? Do I have something on my face again? I thought the rash had cleared up by now," Harry said self-consciously as he caught Snape's eyes roving over him.

Immediately looking away and feigning apathy once more, Snape shook his head stiffly. "There's nothing out of the ordinary with your face, Potter. It is still as unsightly as it always has been."

"Git," Harry huffed, though a smirk tugged at his lips.

At least he'd made a quick and blessedly pain-free recovery. It seemed as though the entire potion that he'd taken to stave off the effects of the curse had left his system, leaving him feeling more energized than he'd been in nearly a month.

Harry gave him a coy look, setting down the newspaper. "You're probably just thinking up of ways to make Potions even more mind-boggling boring than it already is."

"Ignorant as that comment may be, you might be interested to know that I won't be teaching Potions this upcoming term," Snape droned, narrowing his eyes as he took a long sip of tea.

Completely invested in the conversation now, Harry hopped out of his seat on the couch, mind thirsty for this new knowledge. "What do you mean you're not teaching Potions anymore? Are you leaving Hogwarts?"

"Bet you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you, Potter?" Snape queried with a raised brow. "Unfortunately, I shall be remaining at the school as promised previously during our discussion at St. Mungos. I'd hate to let the hero of the wizarding world down," he mocked, enjoying the look on Harry's face as he churned the information in a state of mental numbness. "Contrary to your assumptions, I am your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry gaped at his professor for an arduous moment. His most hated person at Hogwarts was now going to be teaching his favorite subject? What had he done to deserve such a horrible feat?

Thinking things over for a bit, he couldn't say that he was entirely surprised. Snape had been trying to get his hands on that position for years.

And after further thought, Harry deduced that perhaps this transition could be viewed in a positive light. He supposed that he could strive to get good marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts no matter who was teaching the subject because he enjoyed it. Potions, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter, seeing as he despised the very subject itself.

Realizing that he should take an initiative at being polite, he said the only thing that could come to mind. "Congratulations."

Snape's expression revealed that he was genuinely taken aback. He gave Harry a curt nod, unable to bring himself to utter a word of thanks.

At least they were making gradual progress.

Hopefully, by the time school was back in session, they wouldn't completely despise each other, and Harry's experiences with the newly positioned professor wouldn't be entirely miserable.

"I suppose it makes sense just as well," Harry said mildly, eyes downcast. "What better way to learn than from someone who knows what the Dark Arts are all about?"

Snape let out a heavy breath, pulling up his sleeve and gazing distastefully at the Dark Mark on his left forearm. "You ought to know," he told Harry quietly, "that it was the biggest mistake I'd ever made, and if I could change what happened, I certainly would."

Harry glowered, eyes stinging uncomfortably as a lump in his throat began to form. He nodded stagnantly. He respected and understood the man before him. He could only imagine the torture of having to live with one's mistakes for an entire lifetime. "I know, and I don't hold it against you... Not anymore, anyway…"

Snape pulled down his sleeve again, reclining back in his chair once more as though nothing had happened. "In that case, I hope you've started your summer reading assignment for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Don't think you won't be tested on the material when the term begins. Best to start off the year prepared for once."

Harry rolled his eyes, letting out a low chuckle. "Alright, I'll get to it eventually. It'd be pathetic to get a failing mark on the first day of classes. You'll see though, my extensive skill with defensive spells will stun you."

"I wouldn't be so cheeky and sure of myself if I were you. Detention on the first day can always be arranged."

"Good to know things will be going back to normal," Harry joked, content to see that Snape's remarks didn't hold as much bite in them that they usually did.

In reality, he supposed things were far from normal, but that was quite fine by him.

* * *

><p>Around this time of the year, Diagon Alley was always bustling with life. Parents, students, and teachers alike filled all of the stores as they tried to purchase everything on the school supply lists that they had either received or written up for themselves. That back-to-school atmosphere brought by the chill of the upcoming autumn season always signaled the end of summer vacation. Swelling emotions of nervousness, excitement, and heavy-heartedness filled the stomachs of each student. While everyone was surely looking forward to reuniting with their friends for another term, opposing feelings of dejection followed shortly behind, reminding everyone that after a few days of getting back into the usual routine of classes, they'd be wishing they hadn't parted with the summer so promptly.<p>

"This is where we go our separate ways," Snape murmured to Harry as they stepped along the cobblestone pathway. "We shall meet outside the entrance in exactly two hours so that we can apparate back. I'm afraid we can't linger for too long or we might rouse suspicion, especially if we are seen walking together. We can arrange for food when we're amongst Muggles again."

Harry nodded in understanding. He'd withdrawn enough money from his bank account at Gringotts to purchase everything that he could possibly need for the school year, and would now have to tackle the grueling task of perusing each of the shops and waiting on long lines.

Snape went off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the bustling crowds of people as Harry stood in place, definitely not looking forward to the next two hours.

Accumulating the willpower to move, he headed for Flourish and Blotts first, deciding that getting his schoolbooks was the biggest priority at the moment. It was shortly after he stumbled upon Miranda Goshawk's 'Standard Book of Spells _(Grade 6)'_ that another book instantly caught his attention. The 'Advanced Potion Making' textbook seemed to bore into his very soul, making him cower a step back with wary eyes.

There was no way that he was going to choose to take a N.E.W.T level Potions class this year out of his own voluntary will. He couldn't stand the subject, and would avoid it at every cost. The simple thought of having to memorize Potions ingredients for another year made his head spin. Even if Snape wasn't teaching the class any longer, he still would rather stick to Charms, Transfigurations, and Defense Against the Dark Arts instead.

Besides, he hadn't even met the O.W.L requirement for the class, so he was free to just abandon the matter.

It was rather unfortunate then, that he would later discover that he was going to have to take Potions regardless of whether he wanted to or not (courtesy of Dumbledore and another one of his schemes).

Refusing to even look at the wretched book for another second longer, he turned and fled in the opposite direction, hastily picking up a pristine copy of 'A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration' without too much of an internal warfare.

When he'd picked up everything that he would need, Harry paid for the schoolbooks and wandered back into the familiar alley of shops. He supposed that once he'd checked off everything on his supply list, there would be no harm in taking a gander at some non-school related stores, such as Fred and George's new business establishment. They seemed to be attracting a large number of customers for their efforts.

But first, he had to gather some more necessities. He had just finished purchasing some new quills and a fresh supply of parchment when some sort of commotion began to stir outside the shop.

Furrowing his brows, Harry stole a peek out of the store window, surprised to see smoke veiling his view of the other side of the alley. He was about to venture outside when a hand suddenly came down on his shoulder, sending him reeling with adrenaline as he prepared to defend himself. He drew his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at his attacker, only to sigh with relief upon seeing that it was only Snape.

"There you are," the man said steadily, looking a bit anxious. "We must leave; it seems some trouble has been stirring at Ollivander's."

"What do you mean by trouble? Are there Death Eaters outside?"

"Keep your voice down and take my arm," Snape ordered roughly, ignoring his pestering questions for the moment.

Part of Harry fought against the idea of leaving when there could possibly be people in trouble, but the rest of him knew that he was supposed to trust Snape, and that Dumbledore would want him to do as his professor suggested. So, rather reluctantly, he grasped Snape's sleeve, screwing his eyes shut as they apparated back outside of Grimmauld Place.

Recovering from the dizzying feeling of apparating, Harry followed Snape back inside of the Order's headquarters, still hovering about in anticipation as he tried to figure out what exactly was going on. He looked expectantly at Snape's haggard face.

"What just happened?" he asked, beginning his interrogation again. "Were they looking for me?"

Snape shook his head, immediately stepping over to the fireplace. "Not everything in the world revolves around you, Potter. I daresay the Dark Lord is in search of other prizes as well. Nonetheless, it was in our best interest to retreat. There was no knowing what the Dark Lord's followers might have done had they spotted you. Now, if you don't mind, there are a number of individuals that I need to contact. Seeing as you cannot be trusted to refrain from eavesdropping, I shall be using a Silencing charm to keep matters private. I suggest you stay upstairs until order has been restored."

A little frustrated at not being permitted to hear all the details of the incident, Harry returned to his temporary bedroom, deciding he might as well contact Ron and Hermione instead. Perhaps they would know more than he did.

Still, nothing could quench the growing fear in his stomach that this would not be the end of future "incidences" such as these.

They were on the verge of war.

* * *

><p>Things seemed to surge full-speed ahead in the final few days before the start of term.<p>

On the night of the incident at Diagon Alley, Snape left Grimmauld Place with a brief moment's notice before taking off, leaving Harry a little offended at his sudden disappearance.

When he didn't return by the following morning, Harry had to admit that he grew sick with concern, blaming his sudden emotions on the recent stress that he'd experienced. He wandered around Grimmauld Place in silence, trying to keep himself occupied as he waited impatiently for Snape's return, only to be severely disappointed as the minutes ticked on.

When the front door finally creaked open during the early evening hours, Harry had to muster all of his self-control to keep from dashing to the foyer.

And when Dumbledore walked into the living room and not Snape, Harry's stomach plummeted unexpectedly. He politely greeted the man, though it was obvious that he was disappointed at the change of company.

"Harry, my boy. There are a few things we must discuss. First and foremost, we must pay someone a visit," Dumbledore began coolly, adjusting his spectacles absent-mindedly.

Unable to repress his curiosity and worry, he spoke the question that had been on his mind for nearly twenty-four hours. "Erm, Professor, if you don't mind me asking, where is Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly, placing a wrinkled hand on Harry's back. "Professor Snape is running some errands for me at the present moment."

Harry nodded, feeling a little less fidgety and restless. When he had felt a bit more at ease, he finally noticed the hand that wasn't resting on his back. Dumbledore's other limb was still black and darkened from the first day that he had retrieved him from Privet Drive, his skin appearing to be covered in some giant bruise.

He wanted to find out the real reason behind the damaged appendage, considering that Dumbledore hadn't given him a proper answer when he'd first asked him about it, but decided to let the topic slide for now.

"So, where are we off to, Professor?"

"We're going to visit an old friend of mine," the elder replied mildly, holding out his arm for Harry to take as they apparated.

Harry was pleased to note that he was finally beginning to get used to the terrible twisting and churning sensation that came with apparations.

He walked up the length of the block, walking side by side with the Headmaster as they approached a Muggle home. A sense of déjà vu overcame him as he realized that this scenario greatly resembled how his first meeting with Snape over the summer had played out.

He was soon introduced to Horace Slughorn, finally realizing who this year's Potions master was going to be. Though he still wasn't completely sure as to why Dumbledore had used him to lure Slughorn back to Hogwarts, he really didn't pay the details too much mind at the time.

Instead, he was much more focused on why he was being brought to the Burrow instead of Grimmauld Place. Though he loved spending time with the Weasleys and was ecstatic to see Ron and Hermione again, he struggled to come to terms with the sudden change of location. Apparently, these 'errands' that Snape was on were going to take up most of his time until the start of the school year.

It was when Ron and Hermione were bombarding him with questions about his stay with Snape that he realized how betrayed he felt by the man for leaving him in the dust. Normally, he would've been overjoyed at the prospect of finally being freed from the man's 'baby-sitting', but the past few weeks with Snape had certainly changed his impression of him.

He knew that he'd see the man at the start of term, and would have to suffer his grueling homework assignments for an entire year, but he still couldn't help but brood a bit.

It wasn't until he returned to Diagon Alley the next day with Ron and Hermione that he realized how serious the situation was. All of the bustling people that had been painting the winding path with life had dissipated. Everything was sullen and empty. Most of the shops were now closed, broken windows boarded up with planks of wood as ash and smoldering remains of various magical items glided their way through the air.

But even during such trying times, Fred and George's joke shop continued to bring in customers, the building looming over the dead alley.

And after witnessing Draco Malfoy lurking about in Knockturn Alley and taking part in some sort of initiation ceremony, Harry knew that the upcoming year was going to be anything but dull. He could already sense impending trouble brewing.

At least now, he knew who his true enemies were.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	11. The End Of The Battle

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for reading this story and supporting it till the end! However, it is here that our story finally comes to a close.

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><p>Naturally, when Snape had first spotted Harry filing through the gates of Hogwarts with a bloody nose, he was more than a tad stunned. He sent the boy a sharp look, squinting slightly to get a better look at his form as he meandered his way through the school's doors—already late for the first portion of the start of term celebration. The sorting of the first years had long since passed and the feast had begun shortly after.<p>

Hoping he'd still be able to snag a bite to eat before the time to turn in swung around, Harry rushed to the Great Hall, oblivious to Snape's presence as the man trailed behind him. A pale hand caught him by the collar of his shirt before he could go any further, sending the teenager's arms off into a wind-mill like motion as he tried to keep from tumbling over.

Regaining his balance, he swiveled around and finally recognized Snape, who had at some point summoned a hand towel, soaked in cold water, and promptly pressed it against his nose, looking stern.

"What scrape with danger have you gotten yourself into this time, Potter? You look at though you've faced the repercussions of a poor encounter with a hippogriff," Snape remarked in what he hoped sounded like an indifferent tone of voice. "Not so heroic now, are we?"

Harry grumbled a few unintelligible words under his breath and shot Snape a cold look. "You're one to talk. You've no right to question me after you deserted me at Grimmauld Place, leaving Dumbledore to ship me away elsewhere."

Snape sneered, a fraction of him offended at being spoken to in such a haughty manner. "I had responsibilities to attend to. My apologies if you were under the impression that my sole purpose in the Order was to cater to your every whim."

Harry glowered, voice muffled and nasally as he kept a constant pressure on his battered nose. "That's not what I meant. I get that there were things that had to be done, but you could've at least said that you wouldn't be coming back. A proper goodbye should've been in order."

"Excuse me for not indulging in senseless formalities. It had escaped my mind that you were the sentimental type," Snape muttered with a fresh scowl. "However, the question still remains, who was your attacker? Or rather, did you instigate a skirmish by yourself?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, pulling away the towel from his sore nose. "Your star student was just greeting me," he murmured sarcastically. "I saw you talking to Malfoy earlier. What's been going on with him?"

"I don't think that's any of your concern," Snape replied in a clipped tone, keeping up his apathetic demeanor. "Though I see that someone did a rather mediocre job of mending your broken cartilage."

Harry groaned, fingers sliding up to carefully prod the offending body part. "I should've known not to trust Luna when she said it looked fine."

"Hold still," Snape said firmly, taking out his wand and pointing it at Harry's face. "I need to break it so that I can mend it properly."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, more than a bit panicked, but before he could slither away from the reach of Snape's wand, he felt an explosion of pain course through his nose as it was snapped. A second later, the pain receded as it was fixed back to its original state.

He gasped in surprise, cautiously inspecting Snape's work by running his fingers over the bridge of his nose, slightly sweating and trembling from the previous moment of throbbing pain.

"It'll be sore for a few hours, but there's nothing that can be done about that," Snape informed as he gave his work a scrutinizing look and stowed his wand, robes billowing as he did so.

"My face has been through a lot during this past month," Harry noted dryly, catching the flicker of a smirk on Snape's face. "Well, I better get to the feast…"

Snape watched the teen turn around, green eyes disappearing from his view as he began to retreat. With a deep inhale of breath, Snape hesitantly stretched out his arm again, stopping Harry from departing once more. "Not so fast."

He really wanted to hate the boy before him. He would've traded anything in the world for some reprieve from this sudden soft spot that had seemed to embed itself in his gut. The sentimentality of it all should've been lost and easily brushed off by him, but it seemed that he was—once again—not in his right mind.

"Yes, sir?"

He was going to berate himself for this later, but…

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken off in the way that I did," he murmured, forcing the words out of his throat as they demanded to be smothered by silence instead.

Harry straightened himself and tensed, unsure of how to react to Snape's words. Until recently, he'd always perceived the man as a crotchety teacher whose only desire seemed to be to take out his repressed aggression on his students.

But apparently, there was more to the irritable professor than met the eye.

"Thanks," he finally sighed, breaking the awkward atmosphere that hung gloomily around them. "Thanks for everything."

Snape seemed to be caught in between grimacing and scowling, but then changed his mind and bowed his head morosely, surrendering to the necessity of presenting the gesture. He then walked in front of Harry, pushing open the door to the Great Hall and slipping inside, leaving Harry standing outside of the din.

And the young wizard finally acknowledged that the pair had progressed to a level of mutual feelings of understanding that exhibited that they were no longer sworn enemies.

In a rush of emotion that Harry couldn't quite explain, he soon realized that he was relieved.

They were both freed of the hatred that they had been clinging to.

So, Harry strode into the Great Hall—his steps feeling just a bit lighter than they'd been before.

* * *

><p>"Would you stop that incessant knocking? I can bloody well hear you from a kilometer away!"<p>

Another series of bangs followed the first, the wooden door to Snape's chambers rattling on its hinges from the attention. The former Potions Master swung open the barrier dividing him from the stubborn visitor, fully intending to give the person an earful of a lecture to set his nettled nerves at ease.

Needless to say, he hadn't expected to see the spring-green eyes that blinked back at him, brimming with restlessness.

"Potter? What on earth do you think you're doing, assaulting my door at this hour?"

Said student's troubled expression suddenly turned solemn as he met Snape's calculating watch, shrinking back just a few centimeters. "Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I just had a lot on my mind and needed to tell someone about—"

"Oh, so I'm your personal psychotherapist now? Well, excuse me, but I haven't got the time to listen to adolescent melodrama at the moment. I'm quite busy, so if you'll please escort yourself out of my doorway, that'd be simply delightful," Snape growled peevishly, already shutting the heavy door.

Harry desperately tried to pry the door open, clawing at the mahogany wood. "I can't sleep! You must have some sort of potion!"

Relenting in his battle to lock the door, Snape swung it back open and peered at Harry with his usual sharp gaze, seemingly turning over various scenarios in his mind. "Though you may be dim-witted, I thought that by now even you would realize that I am no longer this school's Potions Master. Therefore, kindly remove yourself from the premises, seeing as I shan't be medicating anyone tonight."

A despairing look latching itself onto his face, Harry used his best doe-like eyes to sway the professor into changing his mind. "Please, this is the second night that I can't get a minute of sleep."

Sighing incredulously, Snape stepped aside, allowing the teen to saunter inside. Harry took in the details of the room, frowning a little when he noticed the boxes that were scattered around Snape's living area, untouched. It'd been weeks since the start of the school year, so surely that would've been enough time for Snape to settle in.

"Why haven't you unpacked?" he queried, feeling a little out of place in Snape's personal quarters. It was strange to finally witness where the man retreated to after classes.

Snape went to make some tea, movements weary as he migrated over to the small kitchen area. "You're always full of questions, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, seating his pajama-clad self in one of Snape's armchairs in the living room. "I wouldn't have to ask so many questions if you'd just answer half of them."

Taking a seat across from Harry as the water boiled, Snape narrowed his eyes at his student, not nearly coming off as intimidating as he once had. "If you must know, I simply haven't acclimated to these new chambers. I'd spent so much time in the dungeons since I'd begun teaching here that I can't adapt to this new space. Not to mention, the new office in my classroom, which is far too elaborate for my tastes."

"You don't seem like the type of person who would enjoy change," Harry acknowledged, stifling a yawn.

"Am I supposed to take offense to that?"

Harry shook his head swiftly in response. "No, it's not a bad thing. I guess it's okay to want to preserve some things once in a while."

Snape scoffed, summoning the tea kettle and pouring a cup of tea for each of them. "Alright, since you're in a philosophic mood at the moment, would you care to explain what is causing this sudden insomnia that you've acquired? I have every right to grant you two weeks of detention for being out of bed at such an ungodly hour."

Harry graciously accepted the tea, taking a tiny sip. "Lots of little things I guess. Dumbledore's been asking me to do some things for him and—"

"Ah, the truth finally comes out," Snape harrumphed rubbing a hand over his tired face. "I had a sneaking suspicion that the headmaster was behind this in some form or another. What has he assigned you to do this time?"

Harry rolled his eyes, dipping his head in thought. "I can't exactly talk about it, but that's not the point… That's not the only thing I've been thinking about. There's also the fact that Malfoy has been acting like more of a prat than usual, except now he's skulking about all day. I wanted to ask you about him, since you would probably know… Is he a Death Eater?"

Stiffening, Snape swallowed down the steaming tea to stall as he tried to think of how to reply to the boy. "You should really keep your nose out of other people's business."

"I've seen you talking to him a lot lately, and there must be a reason for it. You don't normally talk to students willingly or without some sort of motive," Harry discerned vigilantly.

"Am I detecting a hint of jealously here? Are you merely searching for attention again, Potter?" Snape asked with an antagonizing smirk, setting his teacup down on the coffee table.

Harry bristled, objecting at once to the accusation. "You know that's not my reason! I just thought I'd come and talk to you about it because…"

"Because what? Cat got your tongue already?" Snape continued to tease.

"Because I knew you'd listen," Harry finished seriously, fiddling with the sleeve of his nightshirt. "You might deny it all you want, but we've been talking for over a month now, so you've got to admit that you don't hate me anymore. You let me into your quarters because you're not as heartless as you wish you were. Besides, you were friends with my mum, and that's got to still mean something to you."

Snape drew in a long breath, standing up and shuffling through a few cabinets before returning with a small vial and passing it to Harry. How had he gotten himself into this mess again?

Alas, in retrospect it was Dumbledore's initial doing.

"Drink the potion; you'll be out in a minute. Hopefully, after you adjust to a normal sleeping rhythm again, you won't need it," Snape explained lowly, watching as Harry warily sniffed the contents and chugged down the foul substance.

"I better get back to the dormitory."

Snape stopped Harry before he could make it to the door. He should've gladly allowed the boy to leave and collapse on the stairs in a sleepy daze, but one look into those bleary green eyes and he couldn't bring himself to live with the guilt. "I'm afraid there's no time for that. Looks like you'll be spending the night on the futon in the corner over there."

Guiding the teen over to the makeshift bed, Snape summoned a worn blanket and threw it over the boy. He hoped Lily was watching in some supernatural way, absolving him of his repayment for his past indecent treatment toward the child.

He had gotten too close; dug too deep, and now he had to face the consequences. There was no way that he'd be getting Harry Potter out of his hair anytime soon. He was going to be stuck with him for quite some time, especially now that he had labeled Snape as his go-to person for discussing his problems and insecurities.

When had he allowed himself to become Potter's adviser? And why in the world was Potter suddenly making conscious decisions to visit him?

Well, this just wouldn't do. He'd have to arrange a few detentions for the boy to set him straight and to reenergize the ill feelings that Harry had once felt towards him with such feverishness. However, before he could continue with his elaborate plan to keep Harry at bay for at least a few months, the boy's eyes sluggishly blinked open, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, reaching up to pull his glasses off and store them on the side-table while he slept.

Snape's throat constricted as his entire body tensed upon hearing the singular word. "Sleep, Potter, and don't plan on making a habit out of this nonsense."

Harry smirked, already dozing off as Snape swore under his breath and made his way out of the room, stealing one last glance at the Boy Who Lived.

Soon, he'd be as old and soft-hearted as Dumbledore.

Snape shuddered at the thought.

* * *

><p>"Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson."<p>

Harry scowled, scrubbing the floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom without magic. Now that he had time to mull it over, he supposed he would've been better off just setting aside the two hours necessary to complete the assignment that Snape had given his class. It would've been a whole lot better than the sore arms and back that he was going to have in the morning from scrubbing down the entire classroom during detention.

"I want that floor to be spotless by the time you're done, and the next time I assign an essay, I expect you to make it a priority of yours to complete it on time," Snape lectured from his desk, marking a pile of recent test papers.

Harry rolled his shoulders to ease their aching, begging time to pass more quickly. "Yes, sir."

Snape scribbled a mark on the top of a paper and shifted to the next one. "I expect to see the essay on my desk by next class or I won't hesitate to simply not give you any credit for it. You've already lost a tenth of your final mark due to it being late. I won't put up with your ridiculous excuses any longer."

"But there was a Quidditch match and—"

"Have I not made myself clear?"

"Sorry," Harry grumbled in surrender, wiping some beads of sweat off of his forehead as he wrung out another sponge and got back to work. Quidditch took up a lot of his normally allotted study-time, but he'd be lying if he'd claimed that he couldn't spare a single hour for the essay. He could've put in the effort and gotten it taken care of, so he supposed he deserved the ruthless detention that he'd been dished out. At least it wasn't as bad as cleaning out dirty cauldrons. Now that Snape's teaching position had changed, so had the quality of the detentions.

"And I assure you, that understanding how to properly resist the effects of the Imperius Curse will be of much more value to you than the outcome of a silly game of Quidditch. It is imperative that this information is drilled into your thick skull, Potter," Snape reasoned logically.

Harry was loath to admit it, but he understood that Snape had presented a good point. The man knew just how to make him feel guilty for not taking advantage of the knowledge being offered to him. Although there was a multitude of things that he would forget having learned after leaving Hogwarts, it was safe to assume that there would be a lot that he would carry with him as well. Even though it felt as though Snape was just trying to torture his class with grueling and tedious homework assignments, he knew that wasn't entirely the case.

It was just easier to assume that Snape hated them all rather than admit that the class would be beneficial to them in the future.

Harry sighed, rubbing a fatigued hand over his face as he moved on to cleaning out the desks. "You know, after learning Expelliarmus from watching you duel Lockhart in my second year, I've managed to save my neck loads of times."

"I'll take that as a show of appreciation for all of the stress I must undergo each day to ensure that you and the rest of those dunderheads in your class can manage to somewhat defend themselves, and survive in the real world," Snape droned as he dipped his quill in more ink absently.

Harry rolled his eyes and threw the sponge down on one of the desk's tops. "Is my time up yet?"

Without even sparing a moment to glance at his watch, Snape shook his head and continued to furiously correct another terribly written test paper. "No, get back to work."

"But I'm already exhausted."

Snape's eyes bored into Harry's for a few seconds. "Good, that's the point of the punishment; it means you're learning from your mistakes. A wonderfully satisfactory feeling, isn't it?"

"No," Harry spat in return, picking up the sponge again.

"Well, I'm certainly satisfied with the outcome," Snape teased, openly pleased. "By the way, you might like to know that Dumbledore has been asking to see you."

Harry immediately brightened up, hoping that his chance for alleviation had finally arrived.

"But that doesn't mean you can just neglect this detention to speak with him. He's well aware that you're occupied with writing my essay later tonight. You can speak with him after you've dealt with your other responsibilities."

Harry groaned, chiding himself for getting too excited when he should've known better. Snape always enjoyed raining on everyone's parade, but after their meetings together had grown more frequent and their relationship less hostile, Harry had somehow learned to not take everything the man said and did as a personal attack.

Going back to scraping the gum from under the desk that he was disinfecting, Harry suddenly remembered something vital that he needed to talk about with the professor, ceasing his attack on the gum for a moment.

"The winter holidays are coming up soon," he began smoothly, trying to act as natural and mature as possible. "Are you staying in the castle?"

Still preoccupied with grading, Snape absent-mindedly drew out a response. "Unfortunately."

"Right, so I was wondering if I could stop by every once in a while instead of sitting in the dormitory all day…" Harry trailed off, sounding a bit too longing for his liking.

Snape finally put down his quill, regarding Harry with his full attention, black eyes meeting the green just as they had so many times in the past. "Potter, you already pester me on a daily basis like the brat you are. Soon enough you'll be asking me to take you away from those Muggles that you're staying with."

Harry frowned, but then contemplated the answer thoughtfully. "You could do that?"

"Of course not. Your aunt and uncle's residence has protective charms. You'll have to remain there until you're of age."

"Oh."

"Oh, is right, Potter," Snape drawled, tidying up the documents on his desk before adding on sarcastically, "I'm sure Petunia is ecstatic to have another wizard in the household."

Harry stumbled as he finally detached that stubborn wad of gum from its hiding place, glancing back at Snape with a surprised expression. "You know my Aunt Petunia?"

Snape snorted with a derisive smirk on his face. "Of course I do. She always despised the magical world simply because she couldn't be a part of it. Your mother tried to mend their relationship. Needless to say, her efforts were futile."

"It explains why she's always trying to live an 'ordinary' life," Harry provided.

Snape seemed to struggle with the urge to continue the conversation, eventually opting to revert back to the original subject. "Regardless, I'm growing tired of your frequent presence, Potter. Though I suppose you'll come to 'visit' me even if I refuse to permit you to do so."

Harry nodded smugly. "Thought I might as well make an attempt at getting you to agree."

"What you need to understand is that there are many things which I must do this term, Potter." Snape began seriously. "And I feel as though it would be for the best if you focused on your studies and completing assignments _on time_ rather than getting involved in my personal matters."

Harry huffed, plopping the sponge into the accompanying bucket of water. "You can't try to just get rid of me now."

Snape shut his eyes, resting his head in his hands. "I know, but it was worth a try," he murmured despairingly. "As long as you don't interrupt my work ethic I suppose it wouldn't be an—"

Harry grinned widely, abandoning his cleaning as he allowed himself to take pride in the small victory that he had just achieved. He was going to drag Snape to the Christmas feast and to Hogsmeade. He'd get the man to loosen up for once after all they had been through.

Sensing that Harry was conjuring up wild scenarios with the help of his imagination, Snape knew that he'd have to swiftly put the action to a stop. "Your time is up, Potter. Gather your belongings and get out of my sight."

Still grinning blissfully, Harry picked up his schoolbag and returned the bucket and sponge to Snape for him to store.

"Goodnight, sir," he said lightheartedly, already heading for the door.

Mustering up some patience, Snape nodded stiffly. "Goodnight."

He watched as the boy left the classroom, relishing in the sudden silence that engulfed the room. Then, when he was sure the boy was out of sight and making his way back to the Gryffindor common room, he allowed himself a small smile.

Turning his head up toward the ceiling, he muttered, "Why must he be so much like you, Lily?"

And he could've sworn he heard a bubbly little laugh rise up from somewhere behind him.

Harry's avid imagination must've been rubbing off on him.

* * *

><p><em>Fin. <em>


End file.
